LNAT Ethics & Education – Test 1

The Problem isn’t remote working – it’s clinging to office based-practices

Alexia Cambon

There have been few moments in the history of work as pivotal as the one we find ourselves in now. It took a pandemic to normalise remote working, and, despite the fears of many CEOs, most organisations saw no demonstrable loss of productivity. Now, the global workforce is demanding its right to retain the autonomy it gained through increased flexibility as societies open up again. Pre-pandemic, it was not uncommon for an employer to ask staff to justify their need to work from home. Post-pandemic, employees may ask employers to justify the need to come into the office.

Yet many organisations are still resisting this more flexible future. They argue that employees’ wellbeing is compromised by remote working, and that unless they are brought back into the office, many more will suffer from “Zoom fatigue”.

But remote work itself is not the problem. The problem is that, though most office workers are currently working from home, the way we work is still inherently office-centric. For the past nine months, my team and I have been researching how maintaining this way of working in a remote environment is actually what is causing significant damage to employees. It’s never a good idea to force a square peg into a round hole.

Pretty much all of our work practices – when we work, where we work, how we work – are designed around location. Worse still, they were designed decades ago, and it is only now, with the pandemic forcing change, that we have been given the unique opportunity to question those structures.

Take the “when” of work. By default, our days are organised around 9-5, a system that was formalised for factory workers by Henry Ford in the US in 1926. Many of us do not work in factories however. Why are we hanging on to this linear day as the only schedule in which work can be done? More importantly, the linear day is unsuitable for the remote environment where we do not have concrete signals to start or end our work day, such as the commute or the dress code: 40% of the remote workforce are working longer hours as a result.

What would happen if organisations looked outside this way of working, and trusted employees to set a non-linear schedule, based on their individual circumstances, that kept them healthy, sane and productive?

How about the “where” of work? It is apparent just from the language we use that the office is still viewed as the headquarters for work. Even the term “remote” implies that you are away from the place work is usually done. The dominance of the office was necessary in a time without home internet or laptops, but we are long past needing to prove that work can be done outside an employer-owned space.

The “how” of work was perhaps the most worrying discovery of our research. There is a long-held assumption that the hallowed meeting is the best way for us to collaborate. This culture of meetings was established in the 1950s, before methods of work that allowed us to collaborate outside meetings (back then, that meant memos passed from one secretary to the next) had today’s speed and efficiency (email, instant messaging, shared drives).

This is what we should be asking ourselves: if 9-5 had never been invented; if “office” were a foreign term; if the concept of a meeting sounded like gibberish – in short, if today were day one of the history of work – how would you design how you work?

The Problem isn’t remote working – it’s clinging to office based-practices

Alexia Cambon

There have been few moments in the history of work as pivotal as the one we find ourselves in now. It took a pandemic to normalise remote working, and, despite the fears of many CEOs, most organisations saw no demonstrable loss of productivity. Now, the global workforce is demanding its right to retain the autonomy it gained through increased flexibility as societies open up again. Pre-pandemic, it was not uncommon for an employer to ask staff to justify their need to work from home. Post-pandemic, employees may ask employers to justify the need to come into the office.

Yet many organisations are still resisting this more flexible future. They argue that employees’ wellbeing is compromised by remote working, and that unless they are brought back into the office, many more will suffer from “Zoom fatigue”.

But remote work itself is not the problem. The problem is that, though most office workers are currently working from home, the way we work is still inherently office-centric. For the past nine months, my team and I have been researching how maintaining this way of working in a remote environment is actually what is causing significant damage to employees. It’s never a good idea to force a square peg into a round hole.

Pretty much all of our work practices – when we work, where we work, how we work – are designed around location. Worse still, they were designed decades ago, and it is only now, with the pandemic forcing change, that we have been given the unique opportunity to question those structures.

Take the “when” of work. By default, our days are organised around 9-5, a system that was formalised for factory workers by Henry Ford in the US in 1926. Many of us do not work in factories however. Why are we hanging on to this linear day as the only schedule in which work can be done? More importantly, the linear day is unsuitable for the remote environment where we do not have concrete signals to start or end our work day, such as the commute or the dress code: 40% of the remote workforce are working longer hours as a result.

What would happen if organisations looked outside this way of working, and trusted employees to set a non-linear schedule, based on their individual circumstances, that kept them healthy, sane and productive?

How about the “where” of work? It is apparent just from the language we use that the office is still viewed as the headquarters for work. Even the term “remote” implies that you are away from the place work is usually done. The dominance of the office was necessary in a time without home internet or laptops, but we are long past needing to prove that work can be done outside an employer-owned space.

The “how” of work was perhaps the most worrying discovery of our research. There is a long-held assumption that the hallowed meeting is the best way for us to collaborate. This culture of meetings was established in the 1950s, before methods of work that allowed us to collaborate outside meetings (back then, that meant memos passed from one secretary to the next) had today’s speed and efficiency (email, instant messaging, shared drives).

This is what we should be asking ourselves: if 9-5 had never been invented; if “office” were a foreign term; if the concept of a meeting sounded like gibberish – in short, if today were day one of the history of work – how would you design how you work?

The Problem isn’t remote working – it’s clinging to office based-practices

Alexia Cambon

There have been few moments in the history of work as pivotal as the one we find ourselves in now. It took a pandemic to normalise remote working, and, despite the fears of many CEOs, most organisations saw no demonstrable loss of productivity. Now, the global workforce is demanding its right to retain the autonomy it gained through increased flexibility as societies open up again. Pre-pandemic, it was not uncommon for an employer to ask staff to justify their need to work from home. Post-pandemic, employees may ask employers to justify the need to come into the office.

Yet many organisations are still resisting this more flexible future. They argue that employees’ wellbeing is compromised by remote working, and that unless they are brought back into the office, many more will suffer from “Zoom fatigue”.

But remote work itself is not the problem. The problem is that, though most office workers are currently working from home, the way we work is still inherently office-centric. For the past nine months, my team and I have been researching how maintaining this way of working in a remote environment is actually what is causing significant damage to employees. It’s never a good idea to force a square peg into a round hole.

Pretty much all of our work practices – when we work, where we work, how we work – are designed around location. Worse still, they were designed decades ago, and it is only now, with the pandemic forcing change, that we have been given the unique opportunity to question those structures.

Take the “when” of work. By default, our days are organised around 9-5, a system that was formalised for factory workers by Henry Ford in the US in 1926. Many of us do not work in factories however. Why are we hanging on to this linear day as the only schedule in which work can be done? More importantly, the linear day is unsuitable for the remote environment where we do not have concrete signals to start or end our work day, such as the commute or the dress code: 40% of the remote workforce are working longer hours as a result.

What would happen if organisations looked outside this way of working, and trusted employees to set a non-linear schedule, based on their individual circumstances, that kept them healthy, sane and productive?

How about the “where” of work? It is apparent just from the language we use that the office is still viewed as the headquarters for work. Even the term “remote” implies that you are away from the place work is usually done. The dominance of the office was necessary in a time without home internet or laptops, but we are long past needing to prove that work can be done outside an employer-owned space.

The “how” of work was perhaps the most worrying discovery of our research. There is a long-held assumption that the hallowed meeting is the best way for us to collaborate. This culture of meetings was established in the 1950s, before methods of work that allowed us to collaborate outside meetings (back then, that meant memos passed from one secretary to the next) had today’s speed and efficiency (email, instant messaging, shared drives).

This is what we should be asking ourselves: if 9-5 had never been invented; if “office” were a foreign term; if the concept of a meeting sounded like gibberish – in short, if today were day one of the history of work – how would you design how you work?

The Problem isn’t remote working – it’s clinging to office based-practices

Alexia Cambon

There have been few moments in the history of work as pivotal as the one we find ourselves in now. It took a pandemic to normalise remote working, and, despite the fears of many CEOs, most organisations saw no demonstrable loss of productivity. Now, the global workforce is demanding its right to retain the autonomy it gained through increased flexibility as societies open up again. Pre-pandemic, it was not uncommon for an employer to ask staff to justify their need to work from home. Post-pandemic, employees may ask employers to justify the need to come into the office.

Yet many organisations are still resisting this more flexible future. They argue that employees’ wellbeing is compromised by remote working, and that unless they are brought back into the office, many more will suffer from “Zoom fatigue”.

But remote work itself is not the problem. The problem is that, though most office workers are currently working from home, the way we work is still inherently office-centric. For the past nine months, my team and I have been researching how maintaining this way of working in a remote environment is actually what is causing significant damage to employees. It’s never a good idea to force a square peg into a round hole.

Pretty much all of our work practices – when we work, where we work, how we work – are designed around location. Worse still, they were designed decades ago, and it is only now, with the pandemic forcing change, that we have been given the unique opportunity to question those structures.

Take the “when” of work. By default, our days are organised around 9-5, a system that was formalised for factory workers by Henry Ford in the US in 1926. Many of us do not work in factories however. Why are we hanging on to this linear day as the only schedule in which work can be done? More importantly, the linear day is unsuitable for the remote environment where we do not have concrete signals to start or end our work day, such as the commute or the dress code: 40% of the remote workforce are working longer hours as a result.

What would happen if organisations looked outside this way of working, and trusted employees to set a non-linear schedule, based on their individual circumstances, that kept them healthy, sane and productive?

How about the “where” of work? It is apparent just from the language we use that the office is still viewed as the headquarters for work. Even the term “remote” implies that you are away from the place work is usually done. The dominance of the office was necessary in a time without home internet or laptops, but we are long past needing to prove that work can be done outside an employer-owned space.

The “how” of work was perhaps the most worrying discovery of our research. There is a long-held assumption that the hallowed meeting is the best way for us to collaborate. This culture of meetings was established in the 1950s, before methods of work that allowed us to collaborate outside meetings (back then, that meant memos passed from one secretary to the next) had today’s speed and efficiency (email, instant messaging, shared drives).

This is what we should be asking ourselves: if 9-5 had never been invented; if “office” were a foreign term; if the concept of a meeting sounded like gibberish – in short, if today were day one of the history of work – how would you design how you work?

The Problem isn’t remote working – it’s clinging to office based-practices

Alexia Cambon

There have been few moments in the history of work as pivotal as the one we find ourselves in now. It took a pandemic to normalise remote working, and, despite the fears of many CEOs, most organisations saw no demonstrable loss of productivity. Now, the global workforce is demanding its right to retain the autonomy it gained through increased flexibility as societies open up again. Pre-pandemic, it was not uncommon for an employer to ask staff to justify their need to work from home. Post-pandemic, employees may ask employers to justify the need to come into the office.

Yet many organisations are still resisting this more flexible future. They argue that employees’ wellbeing is compromised by remote working, and that unless they are brought back into the office, many more will suffer from “Zoom fatigue”.

But remote work itself is not the problem. The problem is that, though most office workers are currently working from home, the way we work is still inherently office-centric. For the past nine months, my team and I have been researching how maintaining this way of working in a remote environment is actually what is causing significant damage to employees. It’s never a good idea to force a square peg into a round hole.

Pretty much all of our work practices – when we work, where we work, how we work – are designed around location. Worse still, they were designed decades ago, and it is only now, with the pandemic forcing change, that we have been given the unique opportunity to question those structures.

Take the “when” of work. By default, our days are organised around 9-5, a system that was formalised for factory workers by Henry Ford in the US in 1926. Many of us do not work in factories however. Why are we hanging on to this linear day as the only schedule in which work can be done? More importantly, the linear day is unsuitable for the remote environment where we do not have concrete signals to start or end our work day, such as the commute or the dress code: 40% of the remote workforce are working longer hours as a result.

What would happen if organisations looked outside this way of working, and trusted employees to set a non-linear schedule, based on their individual circumstances, that kept them healthy, sane and productive?

How about the “where” of work? It is apparent just from the language we use that the office is still viewed as the headquarters for work. Even the term “remote” implies that you are away from the place work is usually done. The dominance of the office was necessary in a time without home internet or laptops, but we are long past needing to prove that work can be done outside an employer-owned space.

The “how” of work was perhaps the most worrying discovery of our research. There is a long-held assumption that the hallowed meeting is the best way for us to collaborate. This culture of meetings was established in the 1950s, before methods of work that allowed us to collaborate outside meetings (back then, that meant memos passed from one secretary to the next) had today’s speed and efficiency (email, instant messaging, shared drives).

This is what we should be asking ourselves: if 9-5 had never been invented; if “office” were a foreign term; if the concept of a meeting sounded like gibberish – in short, if today were day one of the history of work – how would you design how you work?

The world won’t be a greener place until it’s a fairer one

Simone Tagliapietra

As a climate policy researcher, I am often asked: what is the biggest obstacle to decarbonisation? My answer has changed profoundly over the last couple of years. I used to point to the lack of affordable green technologies and an absence of political will. Today, I point to something else. Something less tangible, but possibly more challenging: the absence of a green social contract.

The green revolution is already unfolding, driven by a stunning reduction in the cost of green technologies and by a global momentum for climate neutrality by the mid-century. So, if cheaper green technology and an unprecedented political green ambition are rapidly converging, what could go wrong? Unfortunately, the situation is not as simple as it seems. Decarbonisation will reshape our economies and our lifestyles. Nothing will be left untouched in the process: the green world will be profoundly different from the one we know today.

But such a radical transformation also raises questions about who should bear the cost of climate action, both within and between countries. The cost of climate action can not disproportionately fall on the most vulnerable, exacerbating inequality. Climate action should be designed in a way that improves social equality. And this is precisely what a new green social contract should be about.

Had the design of the carbon tax included compensation mechanisms to cushion the blow for the most vulnerable, the backlash could have been prevented. This is exactly what a group of economists including 28 Nobel laureates and four former Federal Reserve chairs – among them Janet Yellen – have been calling for in the United States: the introduction of a robust carbon tax, together with a compensation system to ensure that the most vulnerable benefit financially by receiving more in “carbon dividends” than they pay in increased energy prices.

This discussion illustrates how important it is to include equity and fairness considerations into the design of climate policies. Even in Europe, the global climate policy frontrunner, support for climate measures is broad but shallow. In a recent survey conducted in eight European countries, the Open Society European Policy Institute found that nearly all voters were happy to buy less plastic, though far fewer were keen to pay more for fuel or flights. In short, as climate policies become stronger, new gilets jaunes-type movements could emerge across the continent. The usual suspects here span the coal mining regions of Poland, that are highly reliant on carbon intensive industries, to those cities in which mayors have declared war on diesel cars.

The world won’t be a greener place until it’s a fairer one

Simone Tagliapietra

As a climate policy researcher, I am often asked: what is the biggest obstacle to decarbonisation? My answer has changed profoundly over the last couple of years. I used to point to the lack of affordable green technologies and an absence of political will. Today, I point to something else. Something less tangible, but possibly more challenging: the absence of a green social contract.

The green revolution is already unfolding, driven by a stunning reduction in the cost of green technologies and by a global momentum for climate neutrality by the mid-century. So, if cheaper green technology and an unprecedented political green ambition are rapidly converging, what could go wrong? Unfortunately, the situation is not as simple as it seems. Decarbonisation will reshape our economies and our lifestyles. Nothing will be left untouched in the process: the green world will be profoundly different from the one we know today.

But such a radical transformation also raises questions about who should bear the cost of climate action, both within and between countries. The cost of climate action can not disproportionately fall on the most vulnerable, exacerbating inequality. Climate action should be designed in a way that improves social equality. And this is precisely what a new green social contract should be about.

Had the design of the carbon tax included compensation mechanisms to cushion the blow for the most vulnerable, the backlash could have been prevented. This is exactly what a group of economists including 28 Nobel laureates and four former Federal Reserve chairs – among them Janet Yellen – have been calling for in the United States: the introduction of a robust carbon tax, together with a compensation system to ensure that the most vulnerable benefit financially by receiving more in “carbon dividends” than they pay in increased energy prices.

This discussion illustrates how important it is to include equity and fairness considerations into the design of climate policies. Even in Europe, the global climate policy frontrunner, support for climate measures is broad but shallow. In a recent survey conducted in eight European countries, the Open Society European Policy Institute found that nearly all voters were happy to buy less plastic, though far fewer were keen to pay more for fuel or flights. In short, as climate policies become stronger, new gilets jaunes-type movements could emerge across the continent. The usual suspects here span the coal mining regions of Poland, that are highly reliant on carbon intensive industries, to those cities in which mayors have declared war on diesel cars.

The world won’t be a greener place until it’s a fairer one

Simone Tagliapietra

As a climate policy researcher, I am often asked: what is the biggest obstacle to decarbonisation? My answer has changed profoundly over the last couple of years. I used to point to the lack of affordable green technologies and an absence of political will. Today, I point to something else. Something less tangible, but possibly more challenging: the absence of a green social contract.

The green revolution is already unfolding, driven by a stunning reduction in the cost of green technologies and by a global momentum for climate neutrality by the mid-century. So, if cheaper green technology and an unprecedented political green ambition are rapidly converging, what could go wrong? Unfortunately, the situation is not as simple as it seems. Decarbonisation will reshape our economies and our lifestyles. Nothing will be left untouched in the process: the green world will be profoundly different from the one we know today.

But such a radical transformation also raises questions about who should bear the cost of climate action, both within and between countries. The cost of climate action can not disproportionately fall on the most vulnerable, exacerbating inequality. Climate action should be designed in a way that improves social equality. And this is precisely what a new green social contract should be about.

Had the design of the carbon tax included compensation mechanisms to cushion the blow for the most vulnerable, the backlash could have been prevented. This is exactly what a group of economists including 28 Nobel laureates and four former Federal Reserve chairs – among them Janet Yellen – have been calling for in the United States: the introduction of a robust carbon tax, together with a compensation system to ensure that the most vulnerable benefit financially by receiving more in “carbon dividends” than they pay in increased energy prices.

This discussion illustrates how important it is to include equity and fairness considerations into the design of climate policies. Even in Europe, the global climate policy frontrunner, support for climate measures is broad but shallow. In a recent survey conducted in eight European countries, the Open Society European Policy Institute found that nearly all voters were happy to buy less plastic, though far fewer were keen to pay more for fuel or flights. In short, as climate policies become stronger, new gilets jaunes-type movements could emerge across the continent. The usual suspects here span the coal mining regions of Poland, that are highly reliant on carbon intensive industries, to those cities in which mayors have declared war on diesel cars.

The world won’t be a greener place until it’s a fairer one

Simone Tagliapietra

As a climate policy researcher, I am often asked: what is the biggest obstacle to decarbonisation? My answer has changed profoundly over the last couple of years. I used to point to the lack of affordable green technologies and an absence of political will. Today, I point to something else. Something less tangible, but possibly more challenging: the absence of a green social contract.

The green revolution is already unfolding, driven by a stunning reduction in the cost of green technologies and by a global momentum for climate neutrality by the mid-century. So, if cheaper green technology and an unprecedented political green ambition are rapidly converging, what could go wrong? Unfortunately, the situation is not as simple as it seems. Decarbonisation will reshape our economies and our lifestyles. Nothing will be left untouched in the process: the green world will be profoundly different from the one we know today.

But such a radical transformation also raises questions about who should bear the cost of climate action, both within and between countries. The cost of climate action can not disproportionately fall on the most vulnerable, exacerbating inequality. Climate action should be designed in a way that improves social equality. And this is precisely what a new green social contract should be about.

Had the design of the carbon tax included compensation mechanisms to cushion the blow for the most vulnerable, the backlash could have been prevented. This is exactly what a group of economists including 28 Nobel laureates and four former Federal Reserve chairs – among them Janet Yellen – have been calling for in the United States: the introduction of a robust carbon tax, together with a compensation system to ensure that the most vulnerable benefit financially by receiving more in “carbon dividends” than they pay in increased energy prices.

This discussion illustrates how important it is to include equity and fairness considerations into the design of climate policies. Even in Europe, the global climate policy frontrunner, support for climate measures is broad but shallow. In a recent survey conducted in eight European countries, the Open Society European Policy Institute found that nearly all voters were happy to buy less plastic, though far fewer were keen to pay more for fuel or flights. In short, as climate policies become stronger, new gilets jaunes-type movements could emerge across the continent. The usual suspects here span the coal mining regions of Poland, that are highly reliant on carbon intensive industries, to those cities in which mayors have declared war on diesel cars.

The world won’t be a greener place until it’s a fairer one

Simone Tagliapietra

As a climate policy researcher, I am often asked: what is the biggest obstacle to decarbonisation? My answer has changed profoundly over the last couple of years. I used to point to the lack of affordable green technologies and an absence of political will. Today, I point to something else. Something less tangible, but possibly more challenging: the absence of a green social contract.

The green revolution is already unfolding, driven by a stunning reduction in the cost of green technologies and by a global momentum for climate neutrality by the mid-century. So, if cheaper green technology and an unprecedented political green ambition are rapidly converging, what could go wrong? Unfortunately, the situation is not as simple as it seems. Decarbonisation will reshape our economies and our lifestyles. Nothing will be left untouched in the process: the green world will be profoundly different from the one we know today.

But such a radical transformation also raises questions about who should bear the cost of climate action, both within and between countries. The cost of climate action can not disproportionately fall on the most vulnerable, exacerbating inequality. Climate action should be designed in a way that improves social equality. And this is precisely what a new green social contract should be about.

Had the design of the carbon tax included compensation mechanisms to cushion the blow for the most vulnerable, the backlash could have been prevented. This is exactly what a group of economists including 28 Nobel laureates and four former Federal Reserve chairs – among them Janet Yellen – have been calling for in the United States: the introduction of a robust carbon tax, together with a compensation system to ensure that the most vulnerable benefit financially by receiving more in “carbon dividends” than they pay in increased energy prices.

This discussion illustrates how important it is to include equity and fairness considerations into the design of climate policies. Even in Europe, the global climate policy frontrunner, support for climate measures is broad but shallow. In a recent survey conducted in eight European countries, the Open Society European Policy Institute found that nearly all voters were happy to buy less plastic, though far fewer were keen to pay more for fuel or flights. In short, as climate policies become stronger, new gilets jaunes-type movements could emerge across the continent. The usual suspects here span the coal mining regions of Poland, that are highly reliant on carbon intensive industries, to those cities in which mayors have declared war on diesel cars.

England has now entered the strangest phase to date of its Covid experience. Though the health secretary insisted, in a tweet he eventually deleted, that we must not “cower from” the virus, the contradiction between the lifting of restrictions and most epidemiological wisdom sits in the midst of our national life like a dull headache. The same prime minister who promised his ideological soulmates a new dawn of liberty is now embracing vaccine passports, and reportedly facing the prospect of defeat in the House of Commons. Meanwhile, references to “personal responsibility” have brought a new unease to everyday life, as the government reverts to type and does what Tory administrations usually do, transferring risk from the state to individuals.

Wearing a mask now feels a bit like putting on a badge. On what the rightwing press rather laughably called “freedom day”, I did some shopping at my local Asda, observed a masked-to-umasked ratio of about 70:30, and sensed – or thought I sensed – the crackle of judgment and mistrust, passing between those who were sticking with face coverings and those who had decided to go without. Two days later, I was in Stoke-on-Trent, where the ratio in a huge Tesco was more like 60:40 in favour of masking up. Despite announcements over the PA advising people to behave as if restrictions were still in place, the fact that some were sticking to the old rules while others were not felt like a matter of dull normality.

On the right, a loathing of the state has fused with hostility to vaccines, and everything is tied together by the belief that those who want restrictions to endure are not just killjoys but enemies of freedom. Some on the left, by contrast, have seemed to want restrictions to go on for as long as possible: not just, perhaps, to keep the virus under control but also because life in such conditions has ticked so many of their political and philosophical boxes: a huge expansion of the state, the primacy of “the science”, clear benefits for the environment, and an insistence on collective sacrifice. With all this has come often swingeing judgment of “Covidiots”, and the assumption that going maskless or being sceptical about getting jabbed puts you in the same category as irate callers to talk radio stations and the dreaded Laurence Fox.

Somewhere in between these two ideological camps are millions who are too easily forgotten: those for whom lockdowns and stringent restrictions have not been the subject of a gleeful ideological war but a byword for misery and strife. Many of these people have had to leave home every day to work in dangerous circumstances. Some live in overcrowded conditions, and as part of dysfunctional and abusive families. Small business owners have either had their livelihoods shredded or live with the fear they are about to go under; for millions of young people, some of the most basic necessities of life have been put in hold for unbearably long stretches of time, with no sign of concern from the people at the top. In that context, even if some people are simply being irresponsible, I understand why others have quietly delighted in binning their masks, and greeted the end of most restrictions in England with a sigh of relief.

In large part, this country’s dire experience of Covid-19 is a result of awful government incompetence. But the past 16 months have also shown that societies ridden with inequality and institutional prejudice cannot cope with any convulsive crisis. The basic point is almost banal, but it seems to elude far too many people: if too many are insecure and isolated, and successive governments have made a point of kicking them around, they will either not be able to do what they are told, or treat edicts from the top and disapproval from those living more privileged lives with the utmost cynicism. Given that the worst effects of Covid have been visited on our most marginalised communities, such behaviour may look irrational, but that tension is hardly surprising.

There is a very persuasive school of thought that claims Covid will turn out to have been a dress rehearsal for the imminent worsening of the climate emergency. Both crises, after all, require us to follow instructions from the top, move in lockstep and engage in difficult acts of self-sacrifice. As things stand, some people can do those things, but others cannot. The danger is that, as one crisis follows another, amid the individualistic noise generated by social media and politicians happy to speak the language of blame, the noise of swingeing personal judgment will be much louder than any voices pointing out that our social model is now broken beyond repair. Dysfunctional societies usually produce deeply dysfunctional outcomes: until we start to address that basic modern truth, sneering and finger-pointing will only make things immeasurably worse.

(John Harris)

England has now entered the strangest phase to date of its Covid experience. Though the health secretary insisted, in a tweet he eventually deleted, that we must not “cower from” the virus, the contradiction between the lifting of restrictions and most epidemiological wisdom sits in the midst of our national life like a dull headache. The same prime minister who promised his ideological soulmates a new dawn of liberty is now embracing vaccine passports, and reportedly facing the prospect of defeat in the House of Commons. Meanwhile, references to “personal responsibility” have brought a new unease to everyday life, as the government reverts to type and does what Tory administrations usually do, transferring risk from the state to individuals.

Wearing a mask now feels a bit like putting on a badge. On what the rightwing press rather laughably called “freedom day”, I did some shopping at my local Asda, observed a masked-to-umasked ratio of about 70:30, and sensed – or thought I sensed – the crackle of judgment and mistrust, passing between those who were sticking with face coverings and those who had decided to go without. Two days later, I was in Stoke-on-Trent, where the ratio in a huge Tesco was more like 60:40 in favour of masking up. Despite announcements over the PA advising people to behave as if restrictions were still in place, the fact that some were sticking to the old rules while others were not felt like a matter of dull normality.

On the right, a loathing of the state has fused with hostility to vaccines, and everything is tied together by the belief that those who want restrictions to endure are not just killjoys but enemies of freedom. Some on the left, by contrast, have seemed to want restrictions to go on for as long as possible: not just, perhaps, to keep the virus under control but also because life in such conditions has ticked so many of their political and philosophical boxes: a huge expansion of the state, the primacy of “the science”, clear benefits for the environment, and an insistence on collective sacrifice. With all this has come often swingeing judgment of “Covidiots”, and the assumption that going maskless or being sceptical about getting jabbed puts you in the same category as irate callers to talk radio stations and the dreaded Laurence Fox.

Somewhere in between these two ideological camps are millions who are too easily forgotten: those for whom lockdowns and stringent restrictions have not been the subject of a gleeful ideological war but a byword for misery and strife. Many of these people have had to leave home every day to work in dangerous circumstances. Some live in overcrowded conditions, and as part of dysfunctional and abusive families. Small business owners have either had their livelihoods shredded or live with the fear they are about to go under; for millions of young people, some of the most basic necessities of life have been put in hold for unbearably long stretches of time, with no sign of concern from the people at the top. In that context, even if some people are simply being irresponsible, I understand why others have quietly delighted in binning their masks, and greeted the end of most restrictions in England with a sigh of relief.

In large part, this country’s dire experience of Covid-19 is a result of awful government incompetence. But the past 16 months have also shown that societies ridden with inequality and institutional prejudice cannot cope with any convulsive crisis. The basic point is almost banal, but it seems to elude far too many people: if too many are insecure and isolated, and successive governments have made a point of kicking them around, they will either not be able to do what they are told, or treat edicts from the top and disapproval from those living more privileged lives with the utmost cynicism. Given that the worst effects of Covid have been visited on our most marginalised communities, such behaviour may look irrational, but that tension is hardly surprising.

There is a very persuasive school of thought that claims Covid will turn out to have been a dress rehearsal for the imminent worsening of the climate emergency. Both crises, after all, require us to follow instructions from the top, move in lockstep and engage in difficult acts of self-sacrifice. As things stand, some people can do those things, but others cannot. The danger is that, as one crisis follows another, amid the individualistic noise generated by social media and politicians happy to speak the language of blame, the noise of swingeing personal judgment will be much louder than any voices pointing out that our social model is now broken beyond repair. Dysfunctional societies usually produce deeply dysfunctional outcomes: until we start to address that basic modern truth, sneering and finger-pointing will only make things immeasurably worse.

(John Harris)

England has now entered the strangest phase to date of its Covid experience. Though the health secretary insisted, in a tweet he eventually deleted, that we must not “cower from” the virus, the contradiction between the lifting of restrictions and most epidemiological wisdom sits in the midst of our national life like a dull headache. The same prime minister who promised his ideological soulmates a new dawn of liberty is now embracing vaccine passports, and reportedly facing the prospect of defeat in the House of Commons. Meanwhile, references to “personal responsibility” have brought a new unease to everyday life, as the government reverts to type and does what Tory administrations usually do, transferring risk from the state to individuals.

Wearing a mask now feels a bit like putting on a badge. On what the rightwing press rather laughably called “freedom day”, I did some shopping at my local Asda, observed a masked-to-umasked ratio of about 70:30, and sensed – or thought I sensed – the crackle of judgment and mistrust, passing between those who were sticking with face coverings and those who had decided to go without. Two days later, I was in Stoke-on-Trent, where the ratio in a huge Tesco was more like 60:40 in favour of masking up. Despite announcements over the PA advising people to behave as if restrictions were still in place, the fact that some were sticking to the old rules while others were not felt like a matter of dull normality.

On the right, a loathing of the state has fused with hostility to vaccines, and everything is tied together by the belief that those who want restrictions to endure are not just killjoys but enemies of freedom. Some on the left, by contrast, have seemed to want restrictions to go on for as long as possible: not just, perhaps, to keep the virus under control but also because life in such conditions has ticked so many of their political and philosophical boxes: a huge expansion of the state, the primacy of “the science”, clear benefits for the environment, and an insistence on collective sacrifice. With all this has come often swingeing judgment of “Covidiots”, and the assumption that going maskless or being sceptical about getting jabbed puts you in the same category as irate callers to talk radio stations and the dreaded Laurence Fox.

Somewhere in between these two ideological camps are millions who are too easily forgotten: those for whom lockdowns and stringent restrictions have not been the subject of a gleeful ideological war but a byword for misery and strife. Many of these people have had to leave home every day to work in dangerous circumstances. Some live in overcrowded conditions, and as part of dysfunctional and abusive families. Small business owners have either had their livelihoods shredded or live with the fear they are about to go under; for millions of young people, some of the most basic necessities of life have been put in hold for unbearably long stretches of time, with no sign of concern from the people at the top. In that context, even if some people are simply being irresponsible, I understand why others have quietly delighted in binning their masks, and greeted the end of most restrictions in England with a sigh of relief.

In large part, this country’s dire experience of Covid-19 is a result of awful government incompetence. But the past 16 months have also shown that societies ridden with inequality and institutional prejudice cannot cope with any convulsive crisis. The basic point is almost banal, but it seems to elude far too many people: if too many are insecure and isolated, and successive governments have made a point of kicking them around, they will either not be able to do what they are told, or treat edicts from the top and disapproval from those living more privileged lives with the utmost cynicism. Given that the worst effects of Covid have been visited on our most marginalised communities, such behaviour may look irrational, but that tension is hardly surprising.

There is a very persuasive school of thought that claims Covid will turn out to have been a dress rehearsal for the imminent worsening of the climate emergency. Both crises, after all, require us to follow instructions from the top, move in lockstep and engage in difficult acts of self-sacrifice. As things stand, some people can do those things, but others cannot. The danger is that, as one crisis follows another, amid the individualistic noise generated by social media and politicians happy to speak the language of blame, the noise of swingeing personal judgment will be much louder than any voices pointing out that our social model is now broken beyond repair. Dysfunctional societies usually produce deeply dysfunctional outcomes: until we start to address that basic modern truth, sneering and finger-pointing will only make things immeasurably worse.

(John Harris)

England has now entered the strangest phase to date of its Covid experience. Though the health secretary insisted, in a tweet he eventually deleted, that we must not “cower from” the virus, the contradiction between the lifting of restrictions and most epidemiological wisdom sits in the midst of our national life like a dull headache. The same prime minister who promised his ideological soulmates a new dawn of liberty is now embracing vaccine passports, and reportedly facing the prospect of defeat in the House of Commons. Meanwhile, references to “personal responsibility” have brought a new unease to everyday life, as the government reverts to type and does what Tory administrations usually do, transferring risk from the state to individuals.

Wearing a mask now feels a bit like putting on a badge. On what the rightwing press rather laughably called “freedom day”, I did some shopping at my local Asda, observed a masked-to-umasked ratio of about 70:30, and sensed – or thought I sensed – the crackle of judgment and mistrust, passing between those who were sticking with face coverings and those who had decided to go without. Two days later, I was in Stoke-on-Trent, where the ratio in a huge Tesco was more like 60:40 in favour of masking up. Despite announcements over the PA advising people to behave as if restrictions were still in place, the fact that some were sticking to the old rules while others were not felt like a matter of dull normality.

On the right, a loathing of the state has fused with hostility to vaccines, and everything is tied together by the belief that those who want restrictions to endure are not just killjoys but enemies of freedom. Some on the left, by contrast, have seemed to want restrictions to go on for as long as possible: not just, perhaps, to keep the virus under control but also because life in such conditions has ticked so many of their political and philosophical boxes: a huge expansion of the state, the primacy of “the science”, clear benefits for the environment, and an insistence on collective sacrifice. With all this has come often swingeing judgment of “Covidiots”, and the assumption that going maskless or being sceptical about getting jabbed puts you in the same category as irate callers to talk radio stations and the dreaded Laurence Fox.

Somewhere in between these two ideological camps are millions who are too easily forgotten: those for whom lockdowns and stringent restrictions have not been the subject of a gleeful ideological war but a byword for misery and strife. Many of these people have had to leave home every day to work in dangerous circumstances. Some live in overcrowded conditions, and as part of dysfunctional and abusive families. Small business owners have either had their livelihoods shredded or live with the fear they are about to go under; for millions of young people, some of the most basic necessities of life have been put in hold for unbearably long stretches of time, with no sign of concern from the people at the top. In that context, even if some people are simply being irresponsible, I understand why others have quietly delighted in binning their masks, and greeted the end of most restrictions in England with a sigh of relief.

In large part, this country’s dire experience of Covid-19 is a result of awful government incompetence. But the past 16 months have also shown that societies ridden with inequality and institutional prejudice cannot cope with any convulsive crisis. The basic point is almost banal, but it seems to elude far too many people: if too many are insecure and isolated, and successive governments have made a point of kicking them around, they will either not be able to do what they are told, or treat edicts from the top and disapproval from those living more privileged lives with the utmost cynicism. Given that the worst effects of Covid have been visited on our most marginalised communities, such behaviour may look irrational, but that tension is hardly surprising.

There is a very persuasive school of thought that claims Covid will turn out to have been a dress rehearsal for the imminent worsening of the climate emergency. Both crises, after all, require us to follow instructions from the top, move in lockstep and engage in difficult acts of self-sacrifice. As things stand, some people can do those things, but others cannot. The danger is that, as one crisis follows another, amid the individualistic noise generated by social media and politicians happy to speak the language of blame, the noise of swingeing personal judgment will be much louder than any voices pointing out that our social model is now broken beyond repair. Dysfunctional societies usually produce deeply dysfunctional outcomes: until we start to address that basic modern truth, sneering and finger-pointing will only make things immeasurably worse.

(John Harris)

England has now entered the strangest phase to date of its Covid experience. Though the health secretary insisted, in a tweet he eventually deleted, that we must not “cower from” the virus, the contradiction between the lifting of restrictions and most epidemiological wisdom sits in the midst of our national life like a dull headache. The same prime minister who promised his ideological soulmates a new dawn of liberty is now embracing vaccine passports, and reportedly facing the prospect of defeat in the House of Commons. Meanwhile, references to “personal responsibility” have brought a new unease to everyday life, as the government reverts to type and does what Tory administrations usually do, transferring risk from the state to individuals.

Wearing a mask now feels a bit like putting on a badge. On what the rightwing press rather laughably called “freedom day”, I did some shopping at my local Asda, observed a masked-to-umasked ratio of about 70:30, and sensed – or thought I sensed – the crackle of judgment and mistrust, passing between those who were sticking with face coverings and those who had decided to go without. Two days later, I was in Stoke-on-Trent, where the ratio in a huge Tesco was more like 60:40 in favour of masking up. Despite announcements over the PA advising people to behave as if restrictions were still in place, the fact that some were sticking to the old rules while others were not felt like a matter of dull normality.

On the right, a loathing of the state has fused with hostility to vaccines, and everything is tied together by the belief that those who want restrictions to endure are not just killjoys but enemies of freedom. Some on the left, by contrast, have seemed to want restrictions to go on for as long as possible: not just, perhaps, to keep the virus under control but also because life in such conditions has ticked so many of their political and philosophical boxes: a huge expansion of the state, the primacy of “the science”, clear benefits for the environment, and an insistence on collective sacrifice. With all this has come often swingeing judgment of “Covidiots”, and the assumption that going maskless or being sceptical about getting jabbed puts you in the same category as irate callers to talk radio stations and the dreaded Laurence Fox.

Somewhere in between these two ideological camps are millions who are too easily forgotten: those for whom lockdowns and stringent restrictions have not been the subject of a gleeful ideological war but a byword for misery and strife. Many of these people have had to leave home every day to work in dangerous circumstances. Some live in overcrowded conditions, and as part of dysfunctional and abusive families. Small business owners have either had their livelihoods shredded or live with the fear they are about to go under; for millions of young people, some of the most basic necessities of life have been put in hold for unbearably long stretches of time, with no sign of concern from the people at the top. In that context, even if some people are simply being irresponsible, I understand why others have quietly delighted in binning their masks, and greeted the end of most restrictions in England with a sigh of relief.

In large part, this country’s dire experience of Covid-19 is a result of awful government incompetence. But the past 16 months have also shown that societies ridden with inequality and institutional prejudice cannot cope with any convulsive crisis. The basic point is almost banal, but it seems to elude far too many people: if too many are insecure and isolated, and successive governments have made a point of kicking them around, they will either not be able to do what they are told, or treat edicts from the top and disapproval from those living more privileged lives with the utmost cynicism. Given that the worst effects of Covid have been visited on our most marginalised communities, such behaviour may look irrational, but that tension is hardly surprising.

There is a very persuasive school of thought that claims Covid will turn out to have been a dress rehearsal for the imminent worsening of the climate emergency. Both crises, after all, require us to follow instructions from the top, move in lockstep and engage in difficult acts of self-sacrifice. As things stand, some people can do those things, but others cannot. The danger is that, as one crisis follows another, amid the individualistic noise generated by social media and politicians happy to speak the language of blame, the noise of swingeing personal judgment will be much louder than any voices pointing out that our social model is now broken beyond repair. Dysfunctional societies usually produce deeply dysfunctional outcomes: until we start to address that basic modern truth, sneering and finger-pointing will only make things immeasurably worse.

(John Harris)

England has now entered the strangest phase to date of its Covid experience. Though the health secretary insisted, in a tweet he eventually deleted, that we must not “cower from” the virus, the contradiction between the lifting of restrictions and most epidemiological wisdom sits in the midst of our national life like a dull headache. The same prime minister who promised his ideological soulmates a new dawn of liberty is now embracing vaccine passports, and reportedly facing the prospect of defeat in the House of Commons. Meanwhile, references to “personal responsibility” have brought a new unease to everyday life, as the government reverts to type and does what Tory administrations usually do, transferring risk from the state to individuals.

Wearing a mask now feels a bit like putting on a badge. On what the rightwing press rather laughably called “freedom day”, I did some shopping at my local Asda, observed a masked-to-umasked ratio of about 70:30, and sensed – or thought I sensed – the crackle of judgment and mistrust, passing between those who were sticking with face coverings and those who had decided to go without. Two days later, I was in Stoke-on-Trent, where the ratio in a huge Tesco was more like 60:40 in favour of masking up. Despite announcements over the PA advising people to behave as if restrictions were still in place, the fact that some were sticking to the old rules while others were not felt like a matter of dull normality.

On the right, a loathing of the state has fused with hostility to vaccines, and everything is tied together by the belief that those who want restrictions to endure are not just killjoys but enemies of freedom. Some on the left, by contrast, have seemed to want restrictions to go on for as long as possible: not just, perhaps, to keep the virus under control but also because life in such conditions has ticked so many of their political and philosophical boxes: a huge expansion of the state, the primacy of “the science”, clear benefits for the environment, and an insistence on collective sacrifice. With all this has come often swingeing judgment of “Covidiots”, and the assumption that going maskless or being sceptical about getting jabbed puts you in the same category as irate callers to talk radio stations and the dreaded Laurence Fox.

Somewhere in between these two ideological camps are millions who are too easily forgotten: those for whom lockdowns and stringent restrictions have not been the subject of a gleeful ideological war but a byword for misery and strife. Many of these people have had to leave home every day to work in dangerous circumstances. Some live in overcrowded conditions, and as part of dysfunctional and abusive families. Small business owners have either had their livelihoods shredded or live with the fear they are about to go under; for millions of young people, some of the most basic necessities of life have been put in hold for unbearably long stretches of time, with no sign of concern from the people at the top. In that context, even if some people are simply being irresponsible, I understand why others have quietly delighted in binning their masks, and greeted the end of most restrictions in England with a sigh of relief.

In large part, this country’s dire experience of Covid-19 is a result of awful government incompetence. But the past 16 months have also shown that societies ridden with inequality and institutional prejudice cannot cope with any convulsive crisis. The basic point is almost banal, but it seems to elude far too many people: if too many are insecure and isolated, and successive governments have made a point of kicking them around, they will either not be able to do what they are told, or treat edicts from the top and disapproval from those living more privileged lives with the utmost cynicism. Given that the worst effects of Covid have been visited on our most marginalised communities, such behaviour may look irrational, but that tension is hardly surprising.

There is a very persuasive school of thought that claims Covid will turn out to have been a dress rehearsal for the imminent worsening of the climate emergency. Both crises, after all, require us to follow instructions from the top, move in lockstep and engage in difficult acts of self-sacrifice. As things stand, some people can do those things, but others cannot. The danger is that, as one crisis follows another, amid the individualistic noise generated by social media and politicians happy to speak the language of blame, the noise of swingeing personal judgment will be much louder than any voices pointing out that our social model is now broken beyond repair. Dysfunctional societies usually produce deeply dysfunctional outcomes: until we start to address that basic modern truth, sneering and finger-pointing will only make things immeasurably worse.

(John Harris)

England has now entered the strangest phase to date of its Covid experience. Though the health secretary insisted, in a tweet he eventually deleted, that we must not “cower from” the virus, the contradiction between the lifting of restrictions and most epidemiological wisdom sits in the midst of our national life like a dull headache. The same prime minister who promised his ideological soulmates a new dawn of liberty is now embracing vaccine passports, and reportedly facing the prospect of defeat in the House of Commons. Meanwhile, references to “personal responsibility” have brought a new unease to everyday life, as the government reverts to type and does what Tory administrations usually do, transferring risk from the state to individuals.

Wearing a mask now feels a bit like putting on a badge. On what the rightwing press rather laughably called “freedom day”, I did some shopping at my local Asda, observed a masked-to-umasked ratio of about 70:30, and sensed – or thought I sensed – the crackle of judgment and mistrust, passing between those who were sticking with face coverings and those who had decided to go without. Two days later, I was in Stoke-on-Trent, where the ratio in a huge Tesco was more like 60:40 in favour of masking up. Despite announcements over the PA advising people to behave as if restrictions were still in place, the fact that some were sticking to the old rules while others were not felt like a matter of dull normality.

On the right, a loathing of the state has fused with hostility to vaccines, and everything is tied together by the belief that those who want restrictions to endure are not just killjoys but enemies of freedom. Some on the left, by contrast, have seemed to want restrictions to go on for as long as possible: not just, perhaps, to keep the virus under control but also because life in such conditions has ticked so many of their political and philosophical boxes: a huge expansion of the state, the primacy of “the science”, clear benefits for the environment, and an insistence on collective sacrifice. With all this has come often swingeing judgment of “Covidiots”, and the assumption that going maskless or being sceptical about getting jabbed puts you in the same category as irate callers to talk radio stations and the dreaded Laurence Fox.

Somewhere in between these two ideological camps are millions who are too easily forgotten: those for whom lockdowns and stringent restrictions have not been the subject of a gleeful ideological war but a byword for misery and strife. Many of these people have had to leave home every day to work in dangerous circumstances. Some live in overcrowded conditions, and as part of dysfunctional and abusive families. Small business owners have either had their livelihoods shredded or live with the fear they are about to go under; for millions of young people, some of the most basic necessities of life have been put in hold for unbearably long stretches of time, with no sign of concern from the people at the top. In that context, even if some people are simply being irresponsible, I understand why others have quietly delighted in binning their masks, and greeted the end of most restrictions in England with a sigh of relief.

In large part, this country’s dire experience of Covid-19 is a result of awful government incompetence. But the past 16 months have also shown that societies ridden with inequality and institutional prejudice cannot cope with any convulsive crisis. The basic point is almost banal, but it seems to elude far too many people: if too many are insecure and isolated, and successive governments have made a point of kicking them around, they will either not be able to do what they are told, or treat edicts from the top and disapproval from those living more privileged lives with the utmost cynicism. Given that the worst effects of Covid have been visited on our most marginalised communities, such behaviour may look irrational, but that tension is hardly surprising.

There is a very persuasive school of thought that claims Covid will turn out to have been a dress rehearsal for the imminent worsening of the climate emergency. Both crises, after all, require us to follow instructions from the top, move in lockstep and engage in difficult acts of self-sacrifice. As things stand, some people can do those things, but others cannot. The danger is that, as one crisis follows another, amid the individualistic noise generated by social media and politicians happy to speak the language of blame, the noise of swingeing personal judgment will be much louder than any voices pointing out that our social model is now broken beyond repair. Dysfunctional societies usually produce deeply dysfunctional outcomes: until we start to address that basic modern truth, sneering and finger-pointing will only make things immeasurably worse.

(John Harris)

England has now entered the strangest phase to date of its Covid experience. Though the health secretary insisted, in a tweet he eventually deleted, that we must not “cower from” the virus, the contradiction between the lifting of restrictions and most epidemiological wisdom sits in the midst of our national life like a dull headache. The same prime minister who promised his ideological soulmates a new dawn of liberty is now embracing vaccine passports, and reportedly facing the prospect of defeat in the House of Commons. Meanwhile, references to “personal responsibility” have brought a new unease to everyday life, as the government reverts to type and does what Tory administrations usually do, transferring risk from the state to individuals.

Wearing a mask now feels a bit like putting on a badge. On what the rightwing press rather laughably called “freedom day”, I did some shopping at my local Asda, observed a masked-to-umasked ratio of about 70:30, and sensed – or thought I sensed – the crackle of judgment and mistrust, passing between those who were sticking with face coverings and those who had decided to go without. Two days later, I was in Stoke-on-Trent, where the ratio in a huge Tesco was more like 60:40 in favour of masking up. Despite announcements over the PA advising people to behave as if restrictions were still in place, the fact that some were sticking to the old rules while others were not felt like a matter of dull normality.

On the right, a loathing of the state has fused with hostility to vaccines, and everything is tied together by the belief that those who want restrictions to endure are not just killjoys but enemies of freedom. Some on the left, by contrast, have seemed to want restrictions to go on for as long as possible: not just, perhaps, to keep the virus under control but also because life in such conditions has ticked so many of their political and philosophical boxes: a huge expansion of the state, the primacy of “the science”, clear benefits for the environment, and an insistence on collective sacrifice. With all this has come often swingeing judgment of “Covidiots”, and the assumption that going maskless or being sceptical about getting jabbed puts you in the same category as irate callers to talk radio stations and the dreaded Laurence Fox.

Somewhere in between these two ideological camps are millions who are too easily forgotten: those for whom lockdowns and stringent restrictions have not been the subject of a gleeful ideological war but a byword for misery and strife. Many of these people have had to leave home every day to work in dangerous circumstances. Some live in overcrowded conditions, and as part of dysfunctional and abusive families. Small business owners have either had their livelihoods shredded or live with the fear they are about to go under; for millions of young people, some of the most basic necessities of life have been put in hold for unbearably long stretches of time, with no sign of concern from the people at the top. In that context, even if some people are simply being irresponsible, I understand why others have quietly delighted in binning their masks, and greeted the end of most restrictions in England with a sigh of relief.

In large part, this country’s dire experience of Covid-19 is a result of awful government incompetence. But the past 16 months have also shown that societies ridden with inequality and institutional prejudice cannot cope with any convulsive crisis. The basic point is almost banal, but it seems to elude far too many people: if too many are insecure and isolated, and successive governments have made a point of kicking them around, they will either not be able to do what they are told, or treat edicts from the top and disapproval from those living more privileged lives with the utmost cynicism. Given that the worst effects of Covid have been visited on our most marginalised communities, such behaviour may look irrational, but that tension is hardly surprising.

There is a very persuasive school of thought that claims Covid will turn out to have been a dress rehearsal for the imminent worsening of the climate emergency. Both crises, after all, require us to follow instructions from the top, move in lockstep and engage in difficult acts of self-sacrifice. As things stand, some people can do those things, but others cannot. The danger is that, as one crisis follows another, amid the individualistic noise generated by social media and politicians happy to speak the language of blame, the noise of swingeing personal judgment will be much louder than any voices pointing out that our social model is now broken beyond repair. Dysfunctional societies usually produce deeply dysfunctional outcomes: until we start to address that basic modern truth, sneering and finger-pointing will only make things immeasurably worse.

(John Harris)

There’s a line in Edwina Currie’s Diaries, volume two; it’s August 1992 and her luckless daughter has just flunked her A-levels. “Denstone,” Currie writes of the Staffordshire independent school, “has a lot to answer for.” It stuck in my mind at the time because it was rare, then, to hear that viewpoint so baldly expressed, that when you pay for a private school, you’re buying grades, and if those grades don’t materialise, the school has ripped you off.

In 2021, parents investing in private education can feel pretty satisfied with their return: 70% of independently educated pupils got As or A*s, set against 42% at state academies and 39% at comprehensives. In the scramble to explain why affluent kids should outperform their peers to such a degree, I’ve heard the following hypotheses: they work harder; their teachers are better; poorer students didn’t have laptops or quiet spaces to work in the pandemic; there was less face-to-face online teaching in state schools

But just logically, leaving all my own prejudices and personal experience of private education aside, when grade inflation is running at 9% in private schools and 6% elsewhere, isn’t the explanation much simpler? Private school teachers, even though they are magic, apparently, are still human: faced with a choice between inflating the odd grade and 1,000 Edwina Curries chewing their ear off, they did what any of us would have done. According to the Sutton Trust, 23% of teachers at private schools reported pressure from parents about their children’s grades, set against 11% of teachers in less-affluent state schools).

It’s just another day in our inverted politics, where what the government says is the exact opposite of what it does. Ministers say they want to “level up”, then stand back and watch as those that already have are given more, and those that have the least are most disappointed. They claim to be on the side of disadvantaged pupils, and then last year literally invented an algorithm with a baked-in bias against schools in poorer areas. They say they will move heaven and earth to make up for lost learning, but can’t find the money to take the advice that they commissioned. Perfectly foreseeable challenges emerge, and there isn’t the ghost of a plan to meet them.

The comfortable analysis is that the education secretary just isn’t up to the job. Certainly, Gavin Williamson appears chaotic and evasive. If rumours surrounding the forthcoming reshuffle are true, Williamson has achieved the impossible, and managed to unite parents, teachers and the cabinet, if only on one view: that he is totally useless.

The much less comfortable conclusion, though, is that underneath what looks like mishaps is a formula of strategic insincerity. There is no natural brake on the government’s rhetoric, as it has no intention of fulfilling any of it. Ministers will continue to bandy about their synonyms and neologisms for “equality”, while charting a course that deepens inequality at an alarming rate, and the insult to our collective intelligence is the least of our problems, however keenly we feel it.

For A-level students themselves, the immediate concern will be university admissions. Overstretched anyway, with a record number of applications, universities said before the results that there would be very little flexibility for students who missed their grades. Competition in clearing is expected to be intense, yet young people have been advised not to defer, since next year will be just as brutal.

In the scrum for places on prestigious courses, which academics fear will favour privately educated pupils, prospective students may be distracted from the underlying reality laid bare by the pandemic. Universities are so heavily reliant on students as cash cows that there is no longer any headroom to worry about their experience of learning. Students had to be on site in 2020, even with no in-person teaching, let alone any socialising, for the extraction of their rents. There was much debate at the time over what this had done to Covid rates, but very little on how it felt at the level of the individual citizen, to be shunted around the country, like numbers in an accounting column.

Educationists are right to worry about the lost learning of the generation coming of age in the pandemic; politicians should be much more worried about this group coming of age as voters. They have been treated as not-quite-legitimate for long enough; not quite important enough to deserve detailed planning and substantial investment. A very small number of parents – 6% – have been able to make up the shortfall with school fees, but that still leaves a large army whose grievances cannot be minimised and ignored for ever.

(Zoe Williams – The Guardian)

There’s a line in Edwina Currie’s Diaries, volume two; it’s August 1992 and her luckless daughter has just flunked her A-levels. “Denstone,” Currie writes of the Staffordshire independent school, “has a lot to answer for.” It stuck in my mind at the time because it was rare, then, to hear that viewpoint so baldly expressed, that when you pay for a private school, you’re buying grades, and if those grades don’t materialise, the school has ripped you off.

In 2021, parents investing in private education can feel pretty satisfied with their return: 70% of independently educated pupils got As or A*s, set against 42% at state academies and 39% at comprehensives. In the scramble to explain why affluent kids should outperform their peers to such a degree, I’ve heard the following hypotheses: they work harder; their teachers are better; poorer students didn’t have laptops or quiet spaces to work in the pandemic; there was less face-to-face online teaching in state schools

But just logically, leaving all my own prejudices and personal experience of private education aside, when grade inflation is running at 9% in private schools and 6% elsewhere, isn’t the explanation much simpler? Private school teachers, even though they are magic, apparently, are still human: faced with a choice between inflating the odd grade and 1,000 Edwina Curries chewing their ear off, they did what any of us would have done. According to the Sutton Trust, 23% of teachers at private schools reported pressure from parents about their children’s grades, set against 11% of teachers in less-affluent state schools).

It’s just another day in our inverted politics, where what the government says is the exact opposite of what it does. Ministers say they want to “level up”, then stand back and watch as those that already have are given more, and those that have the least are most disappointed. They claim to be on the side of disadvantaged pupils, and then last year literally invented an algorithm with a baked-in bias against schools in poorer areas. They say they will move heaven and earth to make up for lost learning, but can’t find the money to take the advice that they commissioned. Perfectly foreseeable challenges emerge, and there isn’t the ghost of a plan to meet them.

The comfortable analysis is that the education secretary just isn’t up to the job. Certainly, Gavin Williamson appears chaotic and evasive. If rumours surrounding the forthcoming reshuffle are true, Williamson has achieved the impossible, and managed to unite parents, teachers and the cabinet, if only on one view: that he is totally useless.

The much less comfortable conclusion, though, is that underneath what looks like mishaps is a formula of strategic insincerity. There is no natural brake on the government’s rhetoric, as it has no intention of fulfilling any of it. Ministers will continue to bandy about their synonyms and neologisms for “equality”, while charting a course that deepens inequality at an alarming rate, and the insult to our collective intelligence is the least of our problems, however keenly we feel it.

For A-level students themselves, the immediate concern will be university admissions. Overstretched anyway, with a record number of applications, universities said before the results that there would be very little flexibility for students who missed their grades. Competition in clearing is expected to be intense, yet young people have been advised not to defer, since next year will be just as brutal.

In the scrum for places on prestigious courses, which academics fear will favour privately educated pupils, prospective students may be distracted from the underlying reality laid bare by the pandemic. Universities are so heavily reliant on students as cash cows that there is no longer any headroom to worry about their experience of learning. Students had to be on site in 2020, even with no in-person teaching, let alone any socialising, for the extraction of their rents. There was much debate at the time over what this had done to Covid rates, but very little on how it felt at the level of the individual citizen, to be shunted around the country, like numbers in an accounting column.

Educationists are right to worry about the lost learning of the generation coming of age in the pandemic; politicians should be much more worried about this group coming of age as voters. They have been treated as not-quite-legitimate for long enough; not quite important enough to deserve detailed planning and substantial investment. A very small number of parents – 6% – have been able to make up the shortfall with school fees, but that still leaves a large army whose grievances cannot be minimised and ignored for ever.

(Zoe Williams – The Guardian)

There’s a line in Edwina Currie’s Diaries, volume two; it’s August 1992 and her luckless daughter has just flunked her A-levels. “Denstone,” Currie writes of the Staffordshire independent school, “has a lot to answer for.” It stuck in my mind at the time because it was rare, then, to hear that viewpoint so baldly expressed, that when you pay for a private school, you’re buying grades, and if those grades don’t materialise, the school has ripped you off.

In 2021, parents investing in private education can feel pretty satisfied with their return: 70% of independently educated pupils got As or A*s, set against 42% at state academies and 39% at comprehensives. In the scramble to explain why affluent kids should outperform their peers to such a degree, I’ve heard the following hypotheses: they work harder; their teachers are better; poorer students didn’t have laptops or quiet spaces to work in the pandemic; there was less face-to-face online teaching in state schools

But just logically, leaving all my own prejudices and personal experience of private education aside, when grade inflation is running at 9% in private schools and 6% elsewhere, isn’t the explanation much simpler? Private school teachers, even though they are magic, apparently, are still human: faced with a choice between inflating the odd grade and 1,000 Edwina Curries chewing their ear off, they did what any of us would have done. According to the Sutton Trust, 23% of teachers at private schools reported pressure from parents about their children’s grades, set against 11% of teachers in less-affluent state schools).

It’s just another day in our inverted politics, where what the government says is the exact opposite of what it does. Ministers say they want to “level up”, then stand back and watch as those that already have are given more, and those that have the least are most disappointed. They claim to be on the side of disadvantaged pupils, and then last year literally invented an algorithm with a baked-in bias against schools in poorer areas. They say they will move heaven and earth to make up for lost learning, but can’t find the money to take the advice that they commissioned. Perfectly foreseeable challenges emerge, and there isn’t the ghost of a plan to meet them.

The comfortable analysis is that the education secretary just isn’t up to the job. Certainly, Gavin Williamson appears chaotic and evasive. If rumours surrounding the forthcoming reshuffle are true, Williamson has achieved the impossible, and managed to unite parents, teachers and the cabinet, if only on one view: that he is totally useless.

The much less comfortable conclusion, though, is that underneath what looks like mishaps is a formula of strategic insincerity. There is no natural brake on the government’s rhetoric, as it has no intention of fulfilling any of it. Ministers will continue to bandy about their synonyms and neologisms for “equality”, while charting a course that deepens inequality at an alarming rate, and the insult to our collective intelligence is the least of our problems, however keenly we feel it.

For A-level students themselves, the immediate concern will be university admissions. Overstretched anyway, with a record number of applications, universities said before the results that there would be very little flexibility for students who missed their grades. Competition in clearing is expected to be intense, yet young people have been advised not to defer, since next year will be just as brutal.

In the scrum for places on prestigious courses, which academics fear will favour privately educated pupils, prospective students may be distracted from the underlying reality laid bare by the pandemic. Universities are so heavily reliant on students as cash cows that there is no longer any headroom to worry about their experience of learning. Students had to be on site in 2020, even with no in-person teaching, let alone any socialising, for the extraction of their rents. There was much debate at the time over what this had done to Covid rates, but very little on how it felt at the level of the individual citizen, to be shunted around the country, like numbers in an accounting column.

Educationists are right to worry about the lost learning of the generation coming of age in the pandemic; politicians should be much more worried about this group coming of age as voters. They have been treated as not-quite-legitimate for long enough; not quite important enough to deserve detailed planning and substantial investment. A very small number of parents – 6% – have been able to make up the shortfall with school fees, but that still leaves a large army whose grievances cannot be minimised and ignored for ever.

(Zoe Williams – The Guardian)

There’s a line in Edwina Currie’s Diaries, volume two; it’s August 1992 and her luckless daughter has just flunked her A-levels. “Denstone,” Currie writes of the Staffordshire independent school, “has a lot to answer for.” It stuck in my mind at the time because it was rare, then, to hear that viewpoint so baldly expressed, that when you pay for a private school, you’re buying grades, and if those grades don’t materialise, the school has ripped you off.

In 2021, parents investing in private education can feel pretty satisfied with their return: 70% of independently educated pupils got As or A*s, set against 42% at state academies and 39% at comprehensives. In the scramble to explain why affluent kids should outperform their peers to such a degree, I’ve heard the following hypotheses: they work harder; their teachers are better; poorer students didn’t have laptops or quiet spaces to work in the pandemic; there was less face-to-face online teaching in state schools

But just logically, leaving all my own prejudices and personal experience of private education aside, when grade inflation is running at 9% in private schools and 6% elsewhere, isn’t the explanation much simpler? Private school teachers, even though they are magic, apparently, are still human: faced with a choice between inflating the odd grade and 1,000 Edwina Curries chewing their ear off, they did what any of us would have done. According to the Sutton Trust, 23% of teachers at private schools reported pressure from parents about their children’s grades, set against 11% of teachers in less-affluent state schools).

It’s just another day in our inverted politics, where what the government says is the exact opposite of what it does. Ministers say they want to “level up”, then stand back and watch as those that already have are given more, and those that have the least are most disappointed. They claim to be on the side of disadvantaged pupils, and then last year literally invented an algorithm with a baked-in bias against schools in poorer areas. They say they will move heaven and earth to make up for lost learning, but can’t find the money to take the advice that they commissioned. Perfectly foreseeable challenges emerge, and there isn’t the ghost of a plan to meet them.

The comfortable analysis is that the education secretary just isn’t up to the job. Certainly, Gavin Williamson appears chaotic and evasive. If rumours surrounding the forthcoming reshuffle are true, Williamson has achieved the impossible, and managed to unite parents, teachers and the cabinet, if only on one view: that he is totally useless.

The much less comfortable conclusion, though, is that underneath what looks like mishaps is a formula of strategic insincerity. There is no natural brake on the government’s rhetoric, as it has no intention of fulfilling any of it. Ministers will continue to bandy about their synonyms and neologisms for “equality”, while charting a course that deepens inequality at an alarming rate, and the insult to our collective intelligence is the least of our problems, however keenly we feel it.

For A-level students themselves, the immediate concern will be university admissions. Overstretched anyway, with a record number of applications, universities said before the results that there would be very little flexibility for students who missed their grades. Competition in clearing is expected to be intense, yet young people have been advised not to defer, since next year will be just as brutal.

In the scrum for places on prestigious courses, which academics fear will favour privately educated pupils, prospective students may be distracted from the underlying reality laid bare by the pandemic. Universities are so heavily reliant on students as cash cows that there is no longer any headroom to worry about their experience of learning. Students had to be on site in 2020, even with no in-person teaching, let alone any socialising, for the extraction of their rents. There was much debate at the time over what this had done to Covid rates, but very little on how it felt at the level of the individual citizen, to be shunted around the country, like numbers in an accounting column.

Educationists are right to worry about the lost learning of the generation coming of age in the pandemic; politicians should be much more worried about this group coming of age as voters. They have been treated as not-quite-legitimate for long enough; not quite important enough to deserve detailed planning and substantial investment. A very small number of parents – 6% – have been able to make up the shortfall with school fees, but that still leaves a large army whose grievances cannot be minimised and ignored for ever.

(Zoe Williams – The Guardian)

There’s a line in Edwina Currie’s Diaries, volume two; it’s August 1992 and her luckless daughter has just flunked her A-levels. “Denstone,” Currie writes of the Staffordshire independent school, “has a lot to answer for.” It stuck in my mind at the time because it was rare, then, to hear that viewpoint so baldly expressed, that when you pay for a private school, you’re buying grades, and if those grades don’t materialise, the school has ripped you off.

In 2021, parents investing in private education can feel pretty satisfied with their return: 70% of independently educated pupils got As or A*s, set against 42% at state academies and 39% at comprehensives. In the scramble to explain why affluent kids should outperform their peers to such a degree, I’ve heard the following hypotheses: they work harder; their teachers are better; poorer students didn’t have laptops or quiet spaces to work in the pandemic; there was less face-to-face online teaching in state schools

But just logically, leaving all my own prejudices and personal experience of private education aside, when grade inflation is running at 9% in private schools and 6% elsewhere, isn’t the explanation much simpler? Private school teachers, even though they are magic, apparently, are still human: faced with a choice between inflating the odd grade and 1,000 Edwina Curries chewing their ear off, they did what any of us would have done. According to the Sutton Trust, 23% of teachers at private schools reported pressure from parents about their children’s grades, set against 11% of teachers in less-affluent state schools).

It’s just another day in our inverted politics, where what the government says is the exact opposite of what it does. Ministers say they want to “level up”, then stand back and watch as those that already have are given more, and those that have the least are most disappointed. They claim to be on the side of disadvantaged pupils, and then last year literally invented an algorithm with a baked-in bias against schools in poorer areas. They say they will move heaven and earth to make up for lost learning, but can’t find the money to take the advice that they commissioned. Perfectly foreseeable challenges emerge, and there isn’t the ghost of a plan to meet them.

The comfortable analysis is that the education secretary just isn’t up to the job. Certainly, Gavin Williamson appears chaotic and evasive. If rumours surrounding the forthcoming reshuffle are true, Williamson has achieved the impossible, and managed to unite parents, teachers and the cabinet, if only on one view: that he is totally useless.

The much less comfortable conclusion, though, is that underneath what looks like mishaps is a formula of strategic insincerity. There is no natural brake on the government’s rhetoric, as it has no intention of fulfilling any of it. Ministers will continue to bandy about their synonyms and neologisms for “equality”, while charting a course that deepens inequality at an alarming rate, and the insult to our collective intelligence is the least of our problems, however keenly we feel it.

For A-level students themselves, the immediate concern will be university admissions. Overstretched anyway, with a record number of applications, universities said before the results that there would be very little flexibility for students who missed their grades. Competition in clearing is expected to be intense, yet young people have been advised not to defer, since next year will be just as brutal.

In the scrum for places on prestigious courses, which academics fear will favour privately educated pupils, prospective students may be distracted from the underlying reality laid bare by the pandemic. Universities are so heavily reliant on students as cash cows that there is no longer any headroom to worry about their experience of learning. Students had to be on site in 2020, even with no in-person teaching, let alone any socialising, for the extraction of their rents. There was much debate at the time over what this had done to Covid rates, but very little on how it felt at the level of the individual citizen, to be shunted around the country, like numbers in an accounting column.

Educationists are right to worry about the lost learning of the generation coming of age in the pandemic; politicians should be much more worried about this group coming of age as voters. They have been treated as not-quite-legitimate for long enough; not quite important enough to deserve detailed planning and substantial investment. A very small number of parents – 6% – have been able to make up the shortfall with school fees, but that still leaves a large army whose grievances cannot be minimised and ignored for ever.

(Zoe Williams – The Guardian)

There’s a line in Edwina Currie’s Diaries, volume two; it’s August 1992 and her luckless daughter has just flunked her A-levels. “Denstone,” Currie writes of the Staffordshire independent school, “has a lot to answer for.” It stuck in my mind at the time because it was rare, then, to hear that viewpoint so baldly expressed, that when you pay for a private school, you’re buying grades, and if those grades don’t materialise, the school has ripped you off.

In 2021, parents investing in private education can feel pretty satisfied with their return: 70% of independently educated pupils got As or A*s, set against 42% at state academies and 39% at comprehensives. In the scramble to explain why affluent kids should outperform their peers to such a degree, I’ve heard the following hypotheses: they work harder; their teachers are better; poorer students didn’t have laptops or quiet spaces to work in the pandemic; there was less face-to-face online teaching in state schools

But just logically, leaving all my own prejudices and personal experience of private education aside, when grade inflation is running at 9% in private schools and 6% elsewhere, isn’t the explanation much simpler? Private school teachers, even though they are magic, apparently, are still human: faced with a choice between inflating the odd grade and 1,000 Edwina Curries chewing their ear off, they did what any of us would have done. According to the Sutton Trust, 23% of teachers at private schools reported pressure from parents about their children’s grades, set against 11% of teachers in less-affluent state schools).

It’s just another day in our inverted politics, where what the government says is the exact opposite of what it does. Ministers say they want to “level up”, then stand back and watch as those that already have are given more, and those that have the least are most disappointed. They claim to be on the side of disadvantaged pupils, and then last year literally invented an algorithm with a baked-in bias against schools in poorer areas. They say they will move heaven and earth to make up for lost learning, but can’t find the money to take the advice that they commissioned. Perfectly foreseeable challenges emerge, and there isn’t the ghost of a plan to meet them.

The comfortable analysis is that the education secretary just isn’t up to the job. Certainly, Gavin Williamson appears chaotic and evasive. If rumours surrounding the forthcoming reshuffle are true, Williamson has achieved the impossible, and managed to unite parents, teachers and the cabinet, if only on one view: that he is totally useless.

The much less comfortable conclusion, though, is that underneath what looks like mishaps is a formula of strategic insincerity. There is no natural brake on the government’s rhetoric, as it has no intention of fulfilling any of it. Ministers will continue to bandy about their synonyms and neologisms for “equality”, while charting a course that deepens inequality at an alarming rate, and the insult to our collective intelligence is the least of our problems, however keenly we feel it.

For A-level students themselves, the immediate concern will be university admissions. Overstretched anyway, with a record number of applications, universities said before the results that there would be very little flexibility for students who missed their grades. Competition in clearing is expected to be intense, yet young people have been advised not to defer, since next year will be just as brutal.

In the scrum for places on prestigious courses, which academics fear will favour privately educated pupils, prospective students may be distracted from the underlying reality laid bare by the pandemic. Universities are so heavily reliant on students as cash cows that there is no longer any headroom to worry about their experience of learning. Students had to be on site in 2020, even with no in-person teaching, let alone any socialising, for the extraction of their rents. There was much debate at the time over what this had done to Covid rates, but very little on how it felt at the level of the individual citizen, to be shunted around the country, like numbers in an accounting column.

Educationists are right to worry about the lost learning of the generation coming of age in the pandemic; politicians should be much more worried about this group coming of age as voters. They have been treated as not-quite-legitimate for long enough; not quite important enough to deserve detailed planning and substantial investment. A very small number of parents – 6% – have been able to make up the shortfall with school fees, but that still leaves a large army whose grievances cannot be minimised and ignored for ever.

(Zoe Williams – The Guardian)

There’s a line in Edwina Currie’s Diaries, volume two; it’s August 1992 and her luckless daughter has just flunked her A-levels. “Denstone,” Currie writes of the Staffordshire independent school, “has a lot to answer for.” It stuck in my mind at the time because it was rare, then, to hear that viewpoint so baldly expressed, that when you pay for a private school, you’re buying grades, and if those grades don’t materialise, the school has ripped you off.

In 2021, parents investing in private education can feel pretty satisfied with their return: 70% of independently educated pupils got As or A*s, set against 42% at state academies and 39% at comprehensives. In the scramble to explain why affluent kids should outperform their peers to such a degree, I’ve heard the following hypotheses: they work harder; their teachers are better; poorer students didn’t have laptops or quiet spaces to work in the pandemic; there was less face-to-face online teaching in state schools

But just logically, leaving all my own prejudices and personal experience of private education aside, when grade inflation is running at 9% in private schools and 6% elsewhere, isn’t the explanation much simpler? Private school teachers, even though they are magic, apparently, are still human: faced with a choice between inflating the odd grade and 1,000 Edwina Curries chewing their ear off, they did what any of us would have done. According to the Sutton Trust, 23% of teachers at private schools reported pressure from parents about their children’s grades, set against 11% of teachers in less-affluent state schools).

It’s just another day in our inverted politics, where what the government says is the exact opposite of what it does. Ministers say they want to “level up”, then stand back and watch as those that already have are given more, and those that have the least are most disappointed. They claim to be on the side of disadvantaged pupils, and then last year literally invented an algorithm with a baked-in bias against schools in poorer areas. They say they will move heaven and earth to make up for lost learning, but can’t find the money to take the advice that they commissioned. Perfectly foreseeable challenges emerge, and there isn’t the ghost of a plan to meet them.

The comfortable analysis is that the education secretary just isn’t up to the job. Certainly, Gavin Williamson appears chaotic and evasive. If rumours surrounding the forthcoming reshuffle are true, Williamson has achieved the impossible, and managed to unite parents, teachers and the cabinet, if only on one view: that he is totally useless.

The much less comfortable conclusion, though, is that underneath what looks like mishaps is a formula of strategic insincerity. There is no natural brake on the government’s rhetoric, as it has no intention of fulfilling any of it. Ministers will continue to bandy about their synonyms and neologisms for “equality”, while charting a course that deepens inequality at an alarming rate, and the insult to our collective intelligence is the least of our problems, however keenly we feel it.

For A-level students themselves, the immediate concern will be university admissions. Overstretched anyway, with a record number of applications, universities said before the results that there would be very little flexibility for students who missed their grades. Competition in clearing is expected to be intense, yet young people have been advised not to defer, since next year will be just as brutal.

In the scrum for places on prestigious courses, which academics fear will favour privately educated pupils, prospective students may be distracted from the underlying reality laid bare by the pandemic. Universities are so heavily reliant on students as cash cows that there is no longer any headroom to worry about their experience of learning. Students had to be on site in 2020, even with no in-person teaching, let alone any socialising, for the extraction of their rents. There was much debate at the time over what this had done to Covid rates, but very little on how it felt at the level of the individual citizen, to be shunted around the country, like numbers in an accounting column.

Educationists are right to worry about the lost learning of the generation coming of age in the pandemic; politicians should be much more worried about this group coming of age as voters. They have been treated as not-quite-legitimate for long enough; not quite important enough to deserve detailed planning and substantial investment. A very small number of parents – 6% – have been able to make up the shortfall with school fees, but that still leaves a large army whose grievances cannot be minimised and ignored for ever.

(Zoe Williams – The Guardian)

How we rebuild our high streets and town centres after the pandemic is one of the most urgent questions facing communities across Britain. The answer has often come in the form of corporate-led regeneration schemes that prioritise demolition, dispossess local communities, and provide scant “affordable” housing. To build a sustainable and inclusive economy, we need to move away from this model. In Tottenham, north London, a pioneering solution is under way that could provide an alternative.

After struggling for 15 years against a widely criticised regeneration plan, traders and residents in Tottenham have won the opportunity to restore a listed historic building and celebrated market for the benefit of the community. The Wards building opened in 1901 as one of London’s “grand department stores” and for decades formed an iconic gateway into Tottenham. Yet the construction of the Victoria line saw their compulsory purchase by Transport for London (TfL). They were derelict until 1985, when a market serving migrant communities opened on the ground floor. Years of underinvestment by TfL left the buildings dilapidated and in 2002, Haringey council designated the site for regeneration, with Grainger – one of Britain’s biggest build-to-rent developer – selected in 2004 as their preferred partner and awarded significant public funds to design proposals for the site.

Grainger’s plans would have demolished the entire Wards Corner block, including the locally listed Edwardian Wards building and Seven Sisters Indoor Market. Known locally as the Latin Village or Pueblito Paisa, the market is an important retail and cultural hub for London’s Latin American communities. A 2011 report by Trust for London found that 85% of London’s Latinx diaspora rely on the clusters of businesses at Seven Sisters and Elephant and Castle to directly experience their culture – with both areas threatened by intensive regeneration. This threat was underscored in 2017, when United Nations human rights experts warned Grainger’s plan would have “a disproportionate impact on people belonging to minorities and their right to equal participation in economic, social and cultural rights”.

Not a single affordable or social-rent home would have been provided at Wards Corner as part of Grainger’s scheme. Instead, it would have built 190 private flats and provided space for several chain stores, encouraged by planning policy that sought to gentrify the area, placing existing residents at risk of displacement. This outdated scheme was conceived in another era, before the pandemic accelerated the high street crisis that had been instigated by the shift to online retail, which has seen a 20% decline in high street visitors and 50,000 shops across the UK close in the past decade. Citing viability concerns and the changed economic landscape, Grainger’s withdrawal is a major victory for all those who want to see urban development for people, not profit.

The community plan to save the market and restore the Wards buildings, first developed by El Pueblito Paisa Ltd in 2007, evolved over several iterations through public meetings, workshops, and events before gaining planning permission in 2014 and again in 2019, when it received hundreds of letters of support. The fourth iteration of the plan, co-designed by the architectural cooperative Unit 38, would sustainably restore the existing buildings and provide over 3,000 sq metres of retail space and cafe space with an enhanced market at its heart, alongside 650 sq metres of affordable workspaces and new community facilities, including a childcare centre. On the wider site, there is the potential for social housing development in collaboration with the council and the community.

The buildings will be democratically owned and operated by a community benefit society led by local people on a one member, one vote basis. Grant funding, community shares and ethical investment will meet the estimated £12.9m cost of the refurbishment. Instead of extracting profits for remote shareholders, the surplus generated from the restored building will be reinvested in further community wealth-building initiatives in Tottenham: financial modelling commissioned by the West Green Road/Seven Sisters Development Trust suggests this could total as much as £84m over 60 years. The community plan represents more than the restoration of a neglected market and heritage building: it is a new, democratic model of urban development that benefits the people who live in an area, rather than distant corporate interests.

Now all efforts must turn to delivering the community plan as soon as possible.

(Edited from an article by Carlos Burgos, Victoria Alvarez and Myfanwy Taylor for the Guardian)

How we rebuild our high streets and town centres after the pandemic is one of the most urgent questions facing communities across Britain. The answer has often come in the form of corporate-led regeneration schemes that prioritise demolition, dispossess local communities, and provide scant “affordable” housing. To build a sustainable and inclusive economy, we need to move away from this model. In Tottenham, north London, a pioneering solution is under way that could provide an alternative.

After struggling for 15 years against a widely criticised regeneration plan, traders and residents in Tottenham have won the opportunity to restore a listed historic building and celebrated market for the benefit of the community. The Wards building opened in 1901 as one of London’s “grand department stores” and for decades formed an iconic gateway into Tottenham. Yet the construction of the Victoria line saw their compulsory purchase by Transport for London (TfL). They were derelict until 1985, when a market serving migrant communities opened on the ground floor. Years of underinvestment by TfL left the buildings dilapidated and in 2002, Haringey council designated the site for regeneration, with Grainger – one of Britain’s biggest build-to-rent developer – selected in 2004 as their preferred partner and awarded significant public funds to design proposals for the site.

Grainger’s plans would have demolished the entire Wards Corner block, including the locally listed Edwardian Wards building and Seven Sisters Indoor Market. Known locally as the Latin Village or Pueblito Paisa, the market is an important retail and cultural hub for London’s Latin American communities. A 2011 report by Trust for London found that 85% of London’s Latinx diaspora rely on the clusters of businesses at Seven Sisters and Elephant and Castle to directly experience their culture – with both areas threatened by intensive regeneration. This threat was underscored in 2017, when United Nations human rights experts warned Grainger’s plan would have “a disproportionate impact on people belonging to minorities and their right to equal participation in economic, social and cultural rights”.

Not a single affordable or social-rent home would have been provided at Wards Corner as part of Grainger’s scheme. Instead, it would have built 190 private flats and provided space for several chain stores, encouraged by planning policy that sought to gentrify the area, placing existing residents at risk of displacement. This outdated scheme was conceived in another era, before the pandemic accelerated the high street crisis that had been instigated by the shift to online retail, which has seen a 20% decline in high street visitors and 50,000 shops across the UK close in the past decade. Citing viability concerns and the changed economic landscape, Grainger’s withdrawal is a major victory for all those who want to see urban development for people, not profit.

The community plan to save the market and restore the Wards buildings, first developed by El Pueblito Paisa Ltd in 2007, evolved over several iterations through public meetings, workshops, and events before gaining planning permission in 2014 and again in 2019, when it received hundreds of letters of support. The fourth iteration of the plan, co-designed by the architectural cooperative Unit 38, would sustainably restore the existing buildings and provide over 3,000 sq metres of retail space and cafe space with an enhanced market at its heart, alongside 650 sq metres of affordable workspaces and new community facilities, including a childcare centre. On the wider site, there is the potential for social housing development in collaboration with the council and the community.

The buildings will be democratically owned and operated by a community benefit society led by local people on a one member, one vote basis. Grant funding, community shares and ethical investment will meet the estimated £12.9m cost of the refurbishment. Instead of extracting profits for remote shareholders, the surplus generated from the restored building will be reinvested in further community wealth-building initiatives in Tottenham: financial modelling commissioned by the West Green Road/Seven Sisters Development Trust suggests this could total as much as £84m over 60 years. The community plan represents more than the restoration of a neglected market and heritage building: it is a new, democratic model of urban development that benefits the people who live in an area, rather than distant corporate interests.

Now all efforts must turn to delivering the community plan as soon as possible.

(Edited from an article by Carlos Burgos, Victoria Alvarez and Myfanwy Taylor for the Guardian)

How we rebuild our high streets and town centres after the pandemic is one of the most urgent questions facing communities across Britain. The answer has often come in the form of corporate-led regeneration schemes that prioritise demolition, dispossess local communities, and provide scant “affordable” housing. To build a sustainable and inclusive economy, we need to move away from this model. In Tottenham, north London, a pioneering solution is under way that could provide an alternative.

After struggling for 15 years against a widely criticised regeneration plan, traders and residents in Tottenham have won the opportunity to restore a listed historic building and celebrated market for the benefit of the community. The Wards building opened in 1901 as one of London’s “grand department stores” and for decades formed an iconic gateway into Tottenham. Yet the construction of the Victoria line saw their compulsory purchase by Transport for London (TfL). They were derelict until 1985, when a market serving migrant communities opened on the ground floor. Years of underinvestment by TfL left the buildings dilapidated and in 2002, Haringey council designated the site for regeneration, with Grainger – one of Britain’s biggest build-to-rent developer – selected in 2004 as their preferred partner and awarded significant public funds to design proposals for the site.

Grainger’s plans would have demolished the entire Wards Corner block, including the locally listed Edwardian Wards building and Seven Sisters Indoor Market. Known locally as the Latin Village or Pueblito Paisa, the market is an important retail and cultural hub for London’s Latin American communities. A 2011 report by Trust for London found that 85% of London’s Latinx diaspora rely on the clusters of businesses at Seven Sisters and Elephant and Castle to directly experience their culture – with both areas threatened by intensive regeneration. This threat was underscored in 2017, when United Nations human rights experts warned Grainger’s plan would have “a disproportionate impact on people belonging to minorities and their right to equal participation in economic, social and cultural rights”.

Not a single affordable or social-rent home would have been provided at Wards Corner as part of Grainger’s scheme. Instead, it would have built 190 private flats and provided space for several chain stores, encouraged by planning policy that sought to gentrify the area, placing existing residents at risk of displacement. This outdated scheme was conceived in another era, before the pandemic accelerated the high street crisis that had been instigated by the shift to online retail, which has seen a 20% decline in high street visitors and 50,000 shops across the UK close in the past decade. Citing viability concerns and the changed economic landscape, Grainger’s withdrawal is a major victory for all those who want to see urban development for people, not profit.

The community plan to save the market and restore the Wards buildings, first developed by El Pueblito Paisa Ltd in 2007, evolved over several iterations through public meetings, workshops, and events before gaining planning permission in 2014 and again in 2019, when it received hundreds of letters of support. The fourth iteration of the plan, co-designed by the architectural cooperative Unit 38, would sustainably restore the existing buildings and provide over 3,000 sq metres of retail space and cafe space with an enhanced market at its heart, alongside 650 sq metres of affordable workspaces and new community facilities, including a childcare centre. On the wider site, there is the potential for social housing development in collaboration with the council and the community.

The buildings will be democratically owned and operated by a community benefit society led by local people on a one member, one vote basis. Grant funding, community shares and ethical investment will meet the estimated £12.9m cost of the refurbishment. Instead of extracting profits for remote shareholders, the surplus generated from the restored building will be reinvested in further community wealth-building initiatives in Tottenham: financial modelling commissioned by the West Green Road/Seven Sisters Development Trust suggests this could total as much as £84m over 60 years. The community plan represents more than the restoration of a neglected market and heritage building: it is a new, democratic model of urban development that benefits the people who live in an area, rather than distant corporate interests.

Now all efforts must turn to delivering the community plan as soon as possible.

(Edited from an article by Carlos Burgos, Victoria Alvarez and Myfanwy Taylor for the Guardian)

How we rebuild our high streets and town centres after the pandemic is one of the most urgent questions facing communities across Britain. The answer has often come in the form of corporate-led regeneration schemes that prioritise demolition, dispossess local communities, and provide scant “affordable” housing. To build a sustainable and inclusive economy, we need to move away from this model. In Tottenham, north London, a pioneering solution is under way that could provide an alternative.

After struggling for 15 years against a widely criticised regeneration plan, traders and residents in Tottenham have won the opportunity to restore a listed historic building and celebrated market for the benefit of the community. The Wards building opened in 1901 as one of London’s “grand department stores” and for decades formed an iconic gateway into Tottenham. Yet the construction of the Victoria line saw their compulsory purchase by Transport for London (TfL). They were derelict until 1985, when a market serving migrant communities opened on the ground floor. Years of underinvestment by TfL left the buildings dilapidated and in 2002, Haringey council designated the site for regeneration, with Grainger – one of Britain’s biggest build-to-rent developer – selected in 2004 as their preferred partner and awarded significant public funds to design proposals for the site.

Grainger’s plans would have demolished the entire Wards Corner block, including the locally listed Edwardian Wards building and Seven Sisters Indoor Market. Known locally as the Latin Village or Pueblito Paisa, the market is an important retail and cultural hub for London’s Latin American communities. A 2011 report by Trust for London found that 85% of London’s Latinx diaspora rely on the clusters of businesses at Seven Sisters and Elephant and Castle to directly experience their culture – with both areas threatened by intensive regeneration. This threat was underscored in 2017, when United Nations human rights experts warned Grainger’s plan would have “a disproportionate impact on people belonging to minorities and their right to equal participation in economic, social and cultural rights”.

Not a single affordable or social-rent home would have been provided at Wards Corner as part of Grainger’s scheme. Instead, it would have built 190 private flats and provided space for several chain stores, encouraged by planning policy that sought to gentrify the area, placing existing residents at risk of displacement. This outdated scheme was conceived in another era, before the pandemic accelerated the high street crisis that had been instigated by the shift to online retail, which has seen a 20% decline in high street visitors and 50,000 shops across the UK close in the past decade. Citing viability concerns and the changed economic landscape, Grainger’s withdrawal is a major victory for all those who want to see urban development for people, not profit.

The community plan to save the market and restore the Wards buildings, first developed by El Pueblito Paisa Ltd in 2007, evolved over several iterations through public meetings, workshops, and events before gaining planning permission in 2014 and again in 2019, when it received hundreds of letters of support. The fourth iteration of the plan, co-designed by the architectural cooperative Unit 38, would sustainably restore the existing buildings and provide over 3,000 sq metres of retail space and cafe space with an enhanced market at its heart, alongside 650 sq metres of affordable workspaces and new community facilities, including a childcare centre. On the wider site, there is the potential for social housing development in collaboration with the council and the community.

The buildings will be democratically owned and operated by a community benefit society led by local people on a one member, one vote basis. Grant funding, community shares and ethical investment will meet the estimated £12.9m cost of the refurbishment. Instead of extracting profits for remote shareholders, the surplus generated from the restored building will be reinvested in further community wealth-building initiatives in Tottenham: financial modelling commissioned by the West Green Road/Seven Sisters Development Trust suggests this could total as much as £84m over 60 years. The community plan represents more than the restoration of a neglected market and heritage building: it is a new, democratic model of urban development that benefits the people who live in an area, rather than distant corporate interests.

Now all efforts must turn to delivering the community plan as soon as possible.

(Edited from an article by Carlos Burgos, Victoria Alvarez and Myfanwy Taylor for the Guardian)

How we rebuild our high streets and town centres after the pandemic is one of the most urgent questions facing communities across Britain. The answer has often come in the form of corporate-led regeneration schemes that prioritise demolition, dispossess local communities, and provide scant “affordable” housing. To build a sustainable and inclusive economy, we need to move away from this model. In Tottenham, north London, a pioneering solution is under way that could provide an alternative.

After struggling for 15 years against a widely criticised regeneration plan, traders and residents in Tottenham have won the opportunity to restore a listed historic building and celebrated market for the benefit of the community. The Wards building opened in 1901 as one of London’s “grand department stores” and for decades formed an iconic gateway into Tottenham. Yet the construction of the Victoria line saw their compulsory purchase by Transport for London (TfL). They were derelict until 1985, when a market serving migrant communities opened on the ground floor. Years of underinvestment by TfL left the buildings dilapidated and in 2002, Haringey council designated the site for regeneration, with Grainger – one of Britain’s biggest build-to-rent developer – selected in 2004 as their preferred partner and awarded significant public funds to design proposals for the site.

Grainger’s plans would have demolished the entire Wards Corner block, including the locally listed Edwardian Wards building and Seven Sisters Indoor Market. Known locally as the Latin Village or Pueblito Paisa, the market is an important retail and cultural hub for London’s Latin American communities. A 2011 report by Trust for London found that 85% of London’s Latinx diaspora rely on the clusters of businesses at Seven Sisters and Elephant and Castle to directly experience their culture – with both areas threatened by intensive regeneration. This threat was underscored in 2017, when United Nations human rights experts warned Grainger’s plan would have “a disproportionate impact on people belonging to minorities and their right to equal participation in economic, social and cultural rights”.

Not a single affordable or social-rent home would have been provided at Wards Corner as part of Grainger’s scheme. Instead, it would have built 190 private flats and provided space for several chain stores, encouraged by planning policy that sought to gentrify the area, placing existing residents at risk of displacement. This outdated scheme was conceived in another era, before the pandemic accelerated the high street crisis that had been instigated by the shift to online retail, which has seen a 20% decline in high street visitors and 50,000 shops across the UK close in the past decade. Citing viability concerns and the changed economic landscape, Grainger’s withdrawal is a major victory for all those who want to see urban development for people, not profit.

The community plan to save the market and restore the Wards buildings, first developed by El Pueblito Paisa Ltd in 2007, evolved over several iterations through public meetings, workshops, and events before gaining planning permission in 2014 and again in 2019, when it received hundreds of letters of support. The fourth iteration of the plan, co-designed by the architectural cooperative Unit 38, would sustainably restore the existing buildings and provide over 3,000 sq metres of retail space and cafe space with an enhanced market at its heart, alongside 650 sq metres of affordable workspaces and new community facilities, including a childcare centre. On the wider site, there is the potential for social housing development in collaboration with the council and the community.

The buildings will be democratically owned and operated by a community benefit society led by local people on a one member, one vote basis. Grant funding, community shares and ethical investment will meet the estimated £12.9m cost of the refurbishment. Instead of extracting profits for remote shareholders, the surplus generated from the restored building will be reinvested in further community wealth-building initiatives in Tottenham: financial modelling commissioned by the West Green Road/Seven Sisters Development Trust suggests this could total as much as £84m over 60 years. The community plan represents more than the restoration of a neglected market and heritage building: it is a new, democratic model of urban development that benefits the people who live in an area, rather than distant corporate interests.

Now all efforts must turn to delivering the community plan as soon as possible.

(Edited from an article by Carlos Burgos, Victoria Alvarez and Myfanwy Taylor for the Guardian)

The sixth assessment report from the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change is no ordinary publication. Its 4,000 pages were written by hundreds of independent scientists from 66 countries. It was commissioned by 195 governments and all of them signed off on the conclusions after reviewing them line by line and word by word. These governments, whether supportive, ambivalent or hostile to climate action, now own the messages in the report. So what does it say?

The report concludes that there is now “unequivocal” evidence that human actions are changing our climate. Behind this are alarming findings. The burning of fossil fuels and deforestation has led to levels of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere that are higher today than at any time in the past 2 million years. Alongside methane and other greenhouse gases, this has driven Earth to be warmer than at any point in the past 125,000 years. The impacts of this can be seen in the loss of Arctic sea ice, accelerating sea level rise, hotter and more frequent heatwaves, increased and more frequent extreme rainfall events and, in some regions, more intense droughts and fires.

As scientists, we can now clearly and unambiguously join all the dots, linking these “climate-impact drivers” back to global heating and carbon dioxide emissions from fossil fuel use. Today’s global temperature rise of 1.1C above pre-industrial levels confirms the predictions of climate scientists more than 30 years ago. The increases in heatwaves and extreme rainfall events were also long foreseen. Those in power may have heard the warnings in previous reports, but they did not listen.

The current wave of devastation from heatwaves, fires and floods is causing misery across the world. Even the world’s wealthiest countries, such as Canada and Germany, are woefully ill-prepared for the escalating effects of the climate crisis. Destructive events are the consequences of failing to act on past warnings. As a result, the climate emergency is no longer a future hypothesis: it is with us here and now.

Global emissions of carbon dioxide are rising again after their temporary fall during the Covid lockdowns. According to the International Energy Authority, unless new policies are enforced, CO2 emissions will probably hit record levels in 2023. And, as if that were not enough bad news, extreme heatwaves, rainfall events and droughts will get worse until carbon dioxide and other greenhouse gas emissions are reduced to zero.

It is hard to make sense of all this. How do we even think of a time as hot as 125,000 years ago? At that point, humans were coexisting with Neanderthals. As much carbon dioxide as two million years ago? Our species hadn’t even evolved by then. It is no wonder these incredible changes feel existential. But we must urgently make sense of them, and act fast.

The problem is ultimately that the use of fossil fuels is a “progress trap”. Decades ago, fossil fuels improved lives compared alternative energy sources, but now their use does the opposite, actively destroying lives and livelihoods. Fossil fuels have gone from an ingenious enabler of human progress to a trap that undermines it. The climate crisis is not caused by vague “human actions”; nor is it a result of some innate aspect of human nature. It is caused by specific investments by specific people in specific things. Change those, and we can change the future.

It may feel uncomfortable saying that fossil fuel companies, their investors and the politicians who enable them are the enemies of progress. But if we care about our collective future we need to say it, again and again, without flinching: using fossil fuels today is destroying our future.

The fossil fuel industry is a powerful and complex enemy. Historically, it is where the world’s most influential lobbyists have worked. Their efforts have secured subsidies, military campaigns and a free licence to pollute, all justified in the name of access to fossil energy. Oil, coal and gas are also intimately involved in our lives, from heating our homes to powering transport. There is no single policy, technological breakthrough or activist campaign that alone can help us escape this trap.

Instead we need a three-pronged attack on fossil fuels: target the industry directly, join broad social movements to secure the political changes needed to end the fossil fuel era and make changes to reduce our demand for fossil fuels. That might mean asking your pension provider to divest from fossil fuels, joining the next Extinction Rebellion protest or replacing your polluting gas cooker with a modern electric one. In this, there is a role for everyone.

What also matters is talking about the climate emergency and the urgent need to end the fossil fuel era. We should be bringing this up at home, at work, at school and with our friends. While the sweeping changes needed must ultimately come from government regulation, it is us who must demonstrate that the desire for change exists.

The new sixth assessment report was not all bad news. It included one unambiguously positive finding: the level of devastation we face is in our collective hands. If the world slashes emissions now and reduces them to net zero by 2050 we would keep the global temperature rise close to 1.5C and avoid the worst impacts of climate change.

To achieve this, politicians will need to hear that the clamour of millions of people’s voices is greater than the might of the fossil fuel lobby. Governments accept the science of climate change. Now they need to be forced to act on what they know is true, and help us escape the fossil fuel progress trap.

(Simon Lewis – The Guardian)

The sixth assessment report from the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change is no ordinary publication. Its 4,000 pages were written by hundreds of independent scientists from 66 countries. It was commissioned by 195 governments and all of them signed off on the conclusions after reviewing them line by line and word by word. These governments, whether supportive, ambivalent or hostile to climate action, now own the messages in the report. So what does it say?

The report concludes that there is now “unequivocal” evidence that human actions are changing our climate. Behind this are alarming findings. The burning of fossil fuels and deforestation has led to levels of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere that are higher today than at any time in the past 2 million years. Alongside methane and other greenhouse gases, this has driven Earth to be warmer than at any point in the past 125,000 years. The impacts of this can be seen in the loss of Arctic sea ice, accelerating sea level rise, hotter and more frequent heatwaves, increased and more frequent extreme rainfall events and, in some regions, more intense droughts and fires.

As scientists, we can now clearly and unambiguously join all the dots, linking these “climate-impact drivers” back to global heating and carbon dioxide emissions from fossil fuel use. Today’s global temperature rise of 1.1C above pre-industrial levels confirms the predictions of climate scientists more than 30 years ago. The increases in heatwaves and extreme rainfall events were also long foreseen. Those in power may have heard the warnings in previous reports, but they did not listen.

The current wave of devastation from heatwaves, fires and floods is causing misery across the world. Even the world’s wealthiest countries, such as Canada and Germany, are woefully ill-prepared for the escalating effects of the climate crisis. Destructive events are the consequences of failing to act on past warnings. As a result, the climate emergency is no longer a future hypothesis: it is with us here and now.

Global emissions of carbon dioxide are rising again after their temporary fall during the Covid lockdowns. According to the International Energy Authority, unless new policies are enforced, CO2 emissions will probably hit record levels in 2023. And, as if that were not enough bad news, extreme heatwaves, rainfall events and droughts will get worse until carbon dioxide and other greenhouse gas emissions are reduced to zero.

It is hard to make sense of all this. How do we even think of a time as hot as 125,000 years ago? At that point, humans were coexisting with Neanderthals. As much carbon dioxide as two million years ago? Our species hadn’t even evolved by then. It is no wonder these incredible changes feel existential. But we must urgently make sense of them, and act fast.

The problem is ultimately that the use of fossil fuels is a “progress trap”. Decades ago, fossil fuels improved lives compared alternative energy sources, but now their use does the opposite, actively destroying lives and livelihoods. Fossil fuels have gone from an ingenious enabler of human progress to a trap that undermines it. The climate crisis is not caused by vague “human actions”; nor is it a result of some innate aspect of human nature. It is caused by specific investments by specific people in specific things. Change those, and we can change the future.

It may feel uncomfortable saying that fossil fuel companies, their investors and the politicians who enable them are the enemies of progress. But if we care about our collective future we need to say it, again and again, without flinching: using fossil fuels today is destroying our future.

The fossil fuel industry is a powerful and complex enemy. Historically, it is where the world’s most influential lobbyists have worked. Their efforts have secured subsidies, military campaigns and a free licence to pollute, all justified in the name of access to fossil energy. Oil, coal and gas are also intimately involved in our lives, from heating our homes to powering transport. There is no single policy, technological breakthrough or activist campaign that alone can help us escape this trap.

Instead we need a three-pronged attack on fossil fuels: target the industry directly, join broad social movements to secure the political changes needed to end the fossil fuel era and make changes to reduce our demand for fossil fuels. That might mean asking your pension provider to divest from fossil fuels, joining the next Extinction Rebellion protest or replacing your polluting gas cooker with a modern electric one. In this, there is a role for everyone.

What also matters is talking about the climate emergency and the urgent need to end the fossil fuel era. We should be bringing this up at home, at work, at school and with our friends. While the sweeping changes needed must ultimately come from government regulation, it is us who must demonstrate that the desire for change exists.

The new sixth assessment report was not all bad news. It included one unambiguously positive finding: the level of devastation we face is in our collective hands. If the world slashes emissions now and reduces them to net zero by 2050 we would keep the global temperature rise close to 1.5C and avoid the worst impacts of climate change.

To achieve this, politicians will need to hear that the clamour of millions of people’s voices is greater than the might of the fossil fuel lobby. Governments accept the science of climate change. Now they need to be forced to act on what they know is true, and help us escape the fossil fuel progress trap.

(Simon Lewis – The Guardian)

The sixth assessment report from the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change is no ordinary publication. Its 4,000 pages were written by hundreds of independent scientists from 66 countries. It was commissioned by 195 governments and all of them signed off on the conclusions after reviewing them line by line and word by word. These governments, whether supportive, ambivalent or hostile to climate action, now own the messages in the report. So what does it say?

The report concludes that there is now “unequivocal” evidence that human actions are changing our climate. Behind this are alarming findings. The burning of fossil fuels and deforestation has led to levels of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere that are higher today than at any time in the past 2 million years. Alongside methane and other greenhouse gases, this has driven Earth to be warmer than at any point in the past 125,000 years. The impacts of this can be seen in the loss of Arctic sea ice, accelerating sea level rise, hotter and more frequent heatwaves, increased and more frequent extreme rainfall events and, in some regions, more intense droughts and fires.

As scientists, we can now clearly and unambiguously join all the dots, linking these “climate-impact drivers” back to global heating and carbon dioxide emissions from fossil fuel use. Today’s global temperature rise of 1.1C above pre-industrial levels confirms the predictions of climate scientists more than 30 years ago. The increases in heatwaves and extreme rainfall events were also long foreseen. Those in power may have heard the warnings in previous reports, but they did not listen.

The current wave of devastation from heatwaves, fires and floods is causing misery across the world. Even the world’s wealthiest countries, such as Canada and Germany, are woefully ill-prepared for the escalating effects of the climate crisis. Destructive events are the consequences of failing to act on past warnings. As a result, the climate emergency is no longer a future hypothesis: it is with us here and now.

Global emissions of carbon dioxide are rising again after their temporary fall during the Covid lockdowns. According to the International Energy Authority, unless new policies are enforced, CO2 emissions will probably hit record levels in 2023. And, as if that were not enough bad news, extreme heatwaves, rainfall events and droughts will get worse until carbon dioxide and other greenhouse gas emissions are reduced to zero.

It is hard to make sense of all this. How do we even think of a time as hot as 125,000 years ago? At that point, humans were coexisting with Neanderthals. As much carbon dioxide as two million years ago? Our species hadn’t even evolved by then. It is no wonder these incredible changes feel existential. But we must urgently make sense of them, and act fast.

The problem is ultimately that the use of fossil fuels is a “progress trap”. Decades ago, fossil fuels improved lives compared alternative energy sources, but now their use does the opposite, actively destroying lives and livelihoods. Fossil fuels have gone from an ingenious enabler of human progress to a trap that undermines it. The climate crisis is not caused by vague “human actions”; nor is it a result of some innate aspect of human nature. It is caused by specific investments by specific people in specific things. Change those, and we can change the future.

It may feel uncomfortable saying that fossil fuel companies, their investors and the politicians who enable them are the enemies of progress. But if we care about our collective future we need to say it, again and again, without flinching: using fossil fuels today is destroying our future.

The fossil fuel industry is a powerful and complex enemy. Historically, it is where the world’s most influential lobbyists have worked. Their efforts have secured subsidies, military campaigns and a free licence to pollute, all justified in the name of access to fossil energy. Oil, coal and gas are also intimately involved in our lives, from heating our homes to powering transport. There is no single policy, technological breakthrough or activist campaign that alone can help us escape this trap.

Instead we need a three-pronged attack on fossil fuels: target the industry directly, join broad social movements to secure the political changes needed to end the fossil fuel era and make changes to reduce our demand for fossil fuels. That might mean asking your pension provider to divest from fossil fuels, joining the next Extinction Rebellion protest or replacing your polluting gas cooker with a modern electric one. In this, there is a role for everyone.

What also matters is talking about the climate emergency and the urgent need to end the fossil fuel era. We should be bringing this up at home, at work, at school and with our friends. While the sweeping changes needed must ultimately come from government regulation, it is us who must demonstrate that the desire for change exists.

The new sixth assessment report was not all bad news. It included one unambiguously positive finding: the level of devastation we face is in our collective hands. If the world slashes emissions now and reduces them to net zero by 2050 we would keep the global temperature rise close to 1.5C and avoid the worst impacts of climate change.

To achieve this, politicians will need to hear that the clamour of millions of people’s voices is greater than the might of the fossil fuel lobby. Governments accept the science of climate change. Now they need to be forced to act on what they know is true, and help us escape the fossil fuel progress trap.

(Simon Lewis – The Guardian)

The sixth assessment report from the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change is no ordinary publication. Its 4,000 pages were written by hundreds of independent scientists from 66 countries. It was commissioned by 195 governments and all of them signed off on the conclusions after reviewing them line by line and word by word. These governments, whether supportive, ambivalent or hostile to climate action, now own the messages in the report. So what does it say?

The report concludes that there is now “unequivocal” evidence that human actions are changing our climate. Behind this are alarming findings. The burning of fossil fuels and deforestation has led to levels of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere that are higher today than at any time in the past 2 million years. Alongside methane and other greenhouse gases, this has driven Earth to be warmer than at any point in the past 125,000 years. The impacts of this can be seen in the loss of Arctic sea ice, accelerating sea level rise, hotter and more frequent heatwaves, increased and more frequent extreme rainfall events and, in some regions, more intense droughts and fires.

As scientists, we can now clearly and unambiguously join all the dots, linking these “climate-impact drivers” back to global heating and carbon dioxide emissions from fossil fuel use. Today’s global temperature rise of 1.1C above pre-industrial levels confirms the predictions of climate scientists more than 30 years ago. The increases in heatwaves and extreme rainfall events were also long foreseen. Those in power may have heard the warnings in previous reports, but they did not listen.

The current wave of devastation from heatwaves, fires and floods is causing misery across the world. Even the world’s wealthiest countries, such as Canada and Germany, are woefully ill-prepared for the escalating effects of the climate crisis. Destructive events are the consequences of failing to act on past warnings. As a result, the climate emergency is no longer a future hypothesis: it is with us here and now.

Global emissions of carbon dioxide are rising again after their temporary fall during the Covid lockdowns. According to the International Energy Authority, unless new policies are enforced, CO2 emissions will probably hit record levels in 2023. And, as if that were not enough bad news, extreme heatwaves, rainfall events and droughts will get worse until carbon dioxide and other greenhouse gas emissions are reduced to zero.

It is hard to make sense of all this. How do we even think of a time as hot as 125,000 years ago? At that point, humans were coexisting with Neanderthals. As much carbon dioxide as two million years ago? Our species hadn’t even evolved by then. It is no wonder these incredible changes feel existential. But we must urgently make sense of them, and act fast.

The problem is ultimately that the use of fossil fuels is a “progress trap”. Decades ago, fossil fuels improved lives compared alternative energy sources, but now their use does the opposite, actively destroying lives and livelihoods. Fossil fuels have gone from an ingenious enabler of human progress to a trap that undermines it. The climate crisis is not caused by vague “human actions”; nor is it a result of some innate aspect of human nature. It is caused by specific investments by specific people in specific things. Change those, and we can change the future.

It may feel uncomfortable saying that fossil fuel companies, their investors and the politicians who enable them are the enemies of progress. But if we care about our collective future we need to say it, again and again, without flinching: using fossil fuels today is destroying our future.

The fossil fuel industry is a powerful and complex enemy. Historically, it is where the world’s most influential lobbyists have worked. Their efforts have secured subsidies, military campaigns and a free licence to pollute, all justified in the name of access to fossil energy. Oil, coal and gas are also intimately involved in our lives, from heating our homes to powering transport. There is no single policy, technological breakthrough or activist campaign that alone can help us escape this trap.

Instead we need a three-pronged attack on fossil fuels: target the industry directly, join broad social movements to secure the political changes needed to end the fossil fuel era and make changes to reduce our demand for fossil fuels. That might mean asking your pension provider to divest from fossil fuels, joining the next Extinction Rebellion protest or replacing your polluting gas cooker with a modern electric one. In this, there is a role for everyone.

What also matters is talking about the climate emergency and the urgent need to end the fossil fuel era. We should be bringing this up at home, at work, at school and with our friends. While the sweeping changes needed must ultimately come from government regulation, it is us who must demonstrate that the desire for change exists.

The new sixth assessment report was not all bad news. It included one unambiguously positive finding: the level of devastation we face is in our collective hands. If the world slashes emissions now and reduces them to net zero by 2050 we would keep the global temperature rise close to 1.5C and avoid the worst impacts of climate change.

To achieve this, politicians will need to hear that the clamour of millions of people’s voices is greater than the might of the fossil fuel lobby. Governments accept the science of climate change. Now they need to be forced to act on what they know is true, and help us escape the fossil fuel progress trap.

(Simon Lewis – The Guardian)

The sixth assessment report from the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change is no ordinary publication. Its 4,000 pages were written by hundreds of independent scientists from 66 countries. It was commissioned by 195 governments and all of them signed off on the conclusions after reviewing them line by line and word by word. These governments, whether supportive, ambivalent or hostile to climate action, now own the messages in the report. So what does it say?

The report concludes that there is now “unequivocal” evidence that human actions are changing our climate. Behind this are alarming findings. The burning of fossil fuels and deforestation has led to levels of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere that are higher today than at any time in the past 2 million years. Alongside methane and other greenhouse gases, this has driven Earth to be warmer than at any point in the past 125,000 years. The impacts of this can be seen in the loss of Arctic sea ice, accelerating sea level rise, hotter and more frequent heatwaves, increased and more frequent extreme rainfall events and, in some regions, more intense droughts and fires.

As scientists, we can now clearly and unambiguously join all the dots, linking these “climate-impact drivers” back to global heating and carbon dioxide emissions from fossil fuel use. Today’s global temperature rise of 1.1C above pre-industrial levels confirms the predictions of climate scientists more than 30 years ago. The increases in heatwaves and extreme rainfall events were also long foreseen. Those in power may have heard the warnings in previous reports, but they did not listen.

The current wave of devastation from heatwaves, fires and floods is causing misery across the world. Even the world’s wealthiest countries, such as Canada and Germany, are woefully ill-prepared for the escalating effects of the climate crisis. Destructive events are the consequences of failing to act on past warnings. As a result, the climate emergency is no longer a future hypothesis: it is with us here and now.

Global emissions of carbon dioxide are rising again after their temporary fall during the Covid lockdowns. According to the International Energy Authority, unless new policies are enforced, CO2 emissions will probably hit record levels in 2023. And, as if that were not enough bad news, extreme heatwaves, rainfall events and droughts will get worse until carbon dioxide and other greenhouse gas emissions are reduced to zero.

It is hard to make sense of all this. How do we even think of a time as hot as 125,000 years ago? At that point, humans were coexisting with Neanderthals. As much carbon dioxide as two million years ago? Our species hadn’t even evolved by then. It is no wonder these incredible changes feel existential. But we must urgently make sense of them, and act fast.

The problem is ultimately that the use of fossil fuels is a “progress trap”. Decades ago, fossil fuels improved lives compared alternative energy sources, but now their use does the opposite, actively destroying lives and livelihoods. Fossil fuels have gone from an ingenious enabler of human progress to a trap that undermines it. The climate crisis is not caused by vague “human actions”; nor is it a result of some innate aspect of human nature. It is caused by specific investments by specific people in specific things. Change those, and we can change the future.

It may feel uncomfortable saying that fossil fuel companies, their investors and the politicians who enable them are the enemies of progress. But if we care about our collective future we need to say it, again and again, without flinching: using fossil fuels today is destroying our future.

The fossil fuel industry is a powerful and complex enemy. Historically, it is where the world’s most influential lobbyists have worked. Their efforts have secured subsidies, military campaigns and a free licence to pollute, all justified in the name of access to fossil energy. Oil, coal and gas are also intimately involved in our lives, from heating our homes to powering transport. There is no single policy, technological breakthrough or activist campaign that alone can help us escape this trap.

Instead we need a three-pronged attack on fossil fuels: target the industry directly, join broad social movements to secure the political changes needed to end the fossil fuel era and make changes to reduce our demand for fossil fuels. That might mean asking your pension provider to divest from fossil fuels, joining the next Extinction Rebellion protest or replacing your polluting gas cooker with a modern electric one. In this, there is a role for everyone.

What also matters is talking about the climate emergency and the urgent need to end the fossil fuel era. We should be bringing this up at home, at work, at school and with our friends. While the sweeping changes needed must ultimately come from government regulation, it is us who must demonstrate that the desire for change exists.

The new sixth assessment report was not all bad news. It included one unambiguously positive finding: the level of devastation we face is in our collective hands. If the world slashes emissions now and reduces them to net zero by 2050 we would keep the global temperature rise close to 1.5C and avoid the worst impacts of climate change.

To achieve this, politicians will need to hear that the clamour of millions of people’s voices is greater than the might of the fossil fuel lobby. Governments accept the science of climate change. Now they need to be forced to act on what they know is true, and help us escape the fossil fuel progress trap.

(Simon Lewis – The Guardian)

‘The fight against the novel coronavirus pandemic has highlighted the importance of ‘Asian values’.” “Asian culture’s emphasis on obedience to authority could play a role in explaining how successful public health measures have been in the region.” “The massive disparity in eastern and western responses to the pandemic lies in their cultural values. Western ‘individualistic’ culture puts the needs and desires of the individual the priority whereas eastern ‘collectivist’ culture pushes societal needs to the forefront.”

Last year, “Asian values” became the one-stop explanation for the success of countries such as China, South Korea, Japan, Taiwan, Singapore and Vietnam in controlling the virus. The west, many insisted, had paid for its individualist ethos by having populations refuse to obey the authorities, fail to wear masks or observe lockdowns.

Except that it has not quite turned out like that. The Olympics in Tokyo have been superb, full of spectacle and drama. But there have been no spectators in the stadiums to watch that drama. Tokyo is in its fourth lockdown and Covid cases are still rising sharply. Most Japanese did not want the Games and in no country has there been more scorn for the way the authorities have handled the pandemic. Less than a third of the population has been vaccinated and only a minority trust Covid vaccines. The only other nation so sceptical of vaccines is another east Asian country, South Korea. Those two countries also have the lowest levels of trust in health authorities’ ability to deliver an effective vaccination programme. There are reasons for such scepticism, such as Japan’s history of botched vaccination programmes. Yet all this puts a dent in the claim that Asian countries are particularly trusting of authority and exhibit a herd-like obedience.

Meanwhile, in Britain, 96% trust Covid vaccines. The supposedly highly individualist population has throughout the pandemic desired more restrictions than the government imposed. The latest polls suggest almost half of Britons think restrictions have been lifted too soon (as compared with one in eight who think they should have been eased sooner); the vast majority want masks to be mandatory in shops and on public transport and social distancing rules maintained; half want nightclubs closed; and almost one in five want to maintain the toughest forms of restrictions – banning people from leaving their homes except for essential shopping, exercise and work.

Such attitudes are not peculiar to Britain. At the beginning of the pandemic, most European nations were highly supportive of lockdowns and other restrictions on personal freedoms, much to the surprise of the authorities. Trust in vaccines has increased in most European nations, including in France where, for historical reasons, there has been greater hesitancy. Australia has seen low numbers of Covid cases and deaths, but also a glacial rate of vaccination. Individual states have imposed a series of severe lockdowns but, despite a number of anti-lockdown protests, most people view the authorities as having handled the pandemic very well. Australians seem as, if not more, willing to conform to government demands as people in most “Confucian” countries.

Perhaps the most depressing consequence of the east/west myth is the belief that one can have only one or the other. Far from there being a simple east/west divide, the global picture is messy in terms of attitudes, policy and outcomes. East Asian countries have disappointingly low vaccination rates, but the numbers of Covid deaths also remain low. Britain has a very high proportion of vaccinated people, but the numbers of deaths are very high and few would suggest, with the exception of the vaccine rollout, that policy has been coherent or well-judged.

(Kenan Malik – The Guardian)

‘The fight against the novel coronavirus pandemic has highlighted the importance of ‘Asian values’.” “Asian culture’s emphasis on obedience to authority could play a role in explaining how successful public health measures have been in the region.” “The massive disparity in eastern and western responses to the pandemic lies in their cultural values. Western ‘individualistic’ culture puts the needs and desires of the individual the priority whereas eastern ‘collectivist’ culture pushes societal needs to the forefront.”

Last year, “Asian values” became the one-stop explanation for the success of countries such as China, South Korea, Japan, Taiwan, Singapore and Vietnam in controlling the virus. The west, many insisted, had paid for its individualist ethos by having populations refuse to obey the authorities, fail to wear masks or observe lockdowns.

Except that it has not quite turned out like that. The Olympics in Tokyo have been superb, full of spectacle and drama. But there have been no spectators in the stadiums to watch that drama. Tokyo is in its fourth lockdown and Covid cases are still rising sharply. Most Japanese did not want the Games and in no country has there been more scorn for the way the authorities have handled the pandemic. Less than a third of the population has been vaccinated and only a minority trust Covid vaccines. The only other nation so sceptical of vaccines is another east Asian country, South Korea. Those two countries also have the lowest levels of trust in health authorities’ ability to deliver an effective vaccination programme. There are reasons for such scepticism, such as Japan’s history of botched vaccination programmes. Yet all this puts a dent in the claim that Asian countries are particularly trusting of authority and exhibit a herd-like obedience.

Meanwhile, in Britain, 96% trust Covid vaccines. The supposedly highly individualist population has throughout the pandemic desired more restrictions than the government imposed. The latest polls suggest almost half of Britons think restrictions have been lifted too soon (as compared with one in eight who think they should have been eased sooner); the vast majority want masks to be mandatory in shops and on public transport and social distancing rules maintained; half want nightclubs closed; and almost one in five want to maintain the toughest forms of restrictions – banning people from leaving their homes except for essential shopping, exercise and work.

Such attitudes are not peculiar to Britain. At the beginning of the pandemic, most European nations were highly supportive of lockdowns and other restrictions on personal freedoms, much to the surprise of the authorities. Trust in vaccines has increased in most European nations, including in France where, for historical reasons, there has been greater hesitancy. Australia has seen low numbers of Covid cases and deaths, but also a glacial rate of vaccination. Individual states have imposed a series of severe lockdowns but, despite a number of anti-lockdown protests, most people view the authorities as having handled the pandemic very well. Australians seem as, if not more, willing to conform to government demands as people in most “Confucian” countries.

Perhaps the most depressing consequence of the east/west myth is the belief that one can have only one or the other. Far from there being a simple east/west divide, the global picture is messy in terms of attitudes, policy and outcomes. East Asian countries have disappointingly low vaccination rates, but the numbers of Covid deaths also remain low. Britain has a very high proportion of vaccinated people, but the numbers of deaths are very high and few would suggest, with the exception of the vaccine rollout, that policy has been coherent or well-judged.

(Kenan Malik – The Guardian)

‘The fight against the novel coronavirus pandemic has highlighted the importance of ‘Asian values’.” “Asian culture’s emphasis on obedience to authority could play a role in explaining how successful public health measures have been in the region.” “The massive disparity in eastern and western responses to the pandemic lies in their cultural values. Western ‘individualistic’ culture puts the needs and desires of the individual the priority whereas eastern ‘collectivist’ culture pushes societal needs to the forefront.”

Last year, “Asian values” became the one-stop explanation for the success of countries such as China, South Korea, Japan, Taiwan, Singapore and Vietnam in controlling the virus. The west, many insisted, had paid for its individualist ethos by having populations refuse to obey the authorities, fail to wear masks or observe lockdowns.

Except that it has not quite turned out like that. The Olympics in Tokyo have been superb, full of spectacle and drama. But there have been no spectators in the stadiums to watch that drama. Tokyo is in its fourth lockdown and Covid cases are still rising sharply. Most Japanese did not want the Games and in no country has there been more scorn for the way the authorities have handled the pandemic. Less than a third of the population has been vaccinated and only a minority trust Covid vaccines. The only other nation so sceptical of vaccines is another east Asian country, South Korea. Those two countries also have the lowest levels of trust in health authorities’ ability to deliver an effective vaccination programme. There are reasons for such scepticism, such as Japan’s history of botched vaccination programmes. Yet all this puts a dent in the claim that Asian countries are particularly trusting of authority and exhibit a herd-like obedience.

Meanwhile, in Britain, 96% trust Covid vaccines. The supposedly highly individualist population has throughout the pandemic desired more restrictions than the government imposed. The latest polls suggest almost half of Britons think restrictions have been lifted too soon (as compared with one in eight who think they should have been eased sooner); the vast majority want masks to be mandatory in shops and on public transport and social distancing rules maintained; half want nightclubs closed; and almost one in five want to maintain the toughest forms of restrictions – banning people from leaving their homes except for essential shopping, exercise and work.

Such attitudes are not peculiar to Britain. At the beginning of the pandemic, most European nations were highly supportive of lockdowns and other restrictions on personal freedoms, much to the surprise of the authorities. Trust in vaccines has increased in most European nations, including in France where, for historical reasons, there has been greater hesitancy. Australia has seen low numbers of Covid cases and deaths, but also a glacial rate of vaccination. Individual states have imposed a series of severe lockdowns but, despite a number of anti-lockdown protests, most people view the authorities as having handled the pandemic very well. Australians seem as, if not more, willing to conform to government demands as people in most “Confucian” countries.

Perhaps the most depressing consequence of the east/west myth is the belief that one can have only one or the other. Far from there being a simple east/west divide, the global picture is messy in terms of attitudes, policy and outcomes. East Asian countries have disappointingly low vaccination rates, but the numbers of Covid deaths also remain low. Britain has a very high proportion of vaccinated people, but the numbers of deaths are very high and few would suggest, with the exception of the vaccine rollout, that policy has been coherent or well-judged.

(Kenan Malik – The Guardian)

‘The fight against the novel coronavirus pandemic has highlighted the importance of ‘Asian values’.” “Asian culture’s emphasis on obedience to authority could play a role in explaining how successful public health measures have been in the region.” “The massive disparity in eastern and western responses to the pandemic lies in their cultural values. Western ‘individualistic’ culture puts the needs and desires of the individual the priority whereas eastern ‘collectivist’ culture pushes societal needs to the forefront.”

Last year, “Asian values” became the one-stop explanation for the success of countries such as China, South Korea, Japan, Taiwan, Singapore and Vietnam in controlling the virus. The west, many insisted, had paid for its individualist ethos by having populations refuse to obey the authorities, fail to wear masks or observe lockdowns.

Except that it has not quite turned out like that. The Olympics in Tokyo have been superb, full of spectacle and drama. But there have been no spectators in the stadiums to watch that drama. Tokyo is in its fourth lockdown and Covid cases are still rising sharply. Most Japanese did not want the Games and in no country has there been more scorn for the way the authorities have handled the pandemic. Less than a third of the population has been vaccinated and only a minority trust Covid vaccines. The only other nation so sceptical of vaccines is another east Asian country, South Korea. Those two countries also have the lowest levels of trust in health authorities’ ability to deliver an effective vaccination programme. There are reasons for such scepticism, such as Japan’s history of botched vaccination programmes. Yet all this puts a dent in the claim that Asian countries are particularly trusting of authority and exhibit a herd-like obedience.

Meanwhile, in Britain, 96% trust Covid vaccines. The supposedly highly individualist population has throughout the pandemic desired more restrictions than the government imposed. The latest polls suggest almost half of Britons think restrictions have been lifted too soon (as compared with one in eight who think they should have been eased sooner); the vast majority want masks to be mandatory in shops and on public transport and social distancing rules maintained; half want nightclubs closed; and almost one in five want to maintain the toughest forms of restrictions – banning people from leaving their homes except for essential shopping, exercise and work.

Such attitudes are not peculiar to Britain. At the beginning of the pandemic, most European nations were highly supportive of lockdowns and other restrictions on personal freedoms, much to the surprise of the authorities. Trust in vaccines has increased in most European nations, including in France where, for historical reasons, there has been greater hesitancy. Australia has seen low numbers of Covid cases and deaths, but also a glacial rate of vaccination. Individual states have imposed a series of severe lockdowns but, despite a number of anti-lockdown protests, most people view the authorities as having handled the pandemic very well. Australians seem as, if not more, willing to conform to government demands as people in most “Confucian” countries.

Perhaps the most depressing consequence of the east/west myth is the belief that one can have only one or the other. Far from there being a simple east/west divide, the global picture is messy in terms of attitudes, policy and outcomes. East Asian countries have disappointingly low vaccination rates, but the numbers of Covid deaths also remain low. Britain has a very high proportion of vaccinated people, but the numbers of deaths are very high and few would suggest, with the exception of the vaccine rollout, that policy has been coherent or well-judged.

(Kenan Malik – The Guardian)

‘The fight against the novel coronavirus pandemic has highlighted the importance of ‘Asian values’.” “Asian culture’s emphasis on obedience to authority could play a role in explaining how successful public health measures have been in the region.” “The massive disparity in eastern and western responses to the pandemic lies in their cultural values. Western ‘individualistic’ culture puts the needs and desires of the individual the priority whereas eastern ‘collectivist’ culture pushes societal needs to the forefront.”

Last year, “Asian values” became the one-stop explanation for the success of countries such as China, South Korea, Japan, Taiwan, Singapore and Vietnam in controlling the virus. The west, many insisted, had paid for its individualist ethos by having populations refuse to obey the authorities, fail to wear masks or observe lockdowns.

Except that it has not quite turned out like that. The Olympics in Tokyo have been superb, full of spectacle and drama. But there have been no spectators in the stadiums to watch that drama. Tokyo is in its fourth lockdown and Covid cases are still rising sharply. Most Japanese did not want the Games and in no country has there been more scorn for the way the authorities have handled the pandemic. Less than a third of the population has been vaccinated and only a minority trust Covid vaccines. The only other nation so sceptical of vaccines is another east Asian country, South Korea. Those two countries also have the lowest levels of trust in health authorities’ ability to deliver an effective vaccination programme. There are reasons for such scepticism, such as Japan’s history of botched vaccination programmes. Yet all this puts a dent in the claim that Asian countries are particularly trusting of authority and exhibit a herd-like obedience.

Meanwhile, in Britain, 96% trust Covid vaccines. The supposedly highly individualist population has throughout the pandemic desired more restrictions than the government imposed. The latest polls suggest almost half of Britons think restrictions have been lifted too soon (as compared with one in eight who think they should have been eased sooner); the vast majority want masks to be mandatory in shops and on public transport and social distancing rules maintained; half want nightclubs closed; and almost one in five want to maintain the toughest forms of restrictions – banning people from leaving their homes except for essential shopping, exercise and work.

Such attitudes are not peculiar to Britain. At the beginning of the pandemic, most European nations were highly supportive of lockdowns and other restrictions on personal freedoms, much to the surprise of the authorities. Trust in vaccines has increased in most European nations, including in France where, for historical reasons, there has been greater hesitancy. Australia has seen low numbers of Covid cases and deaths, but also a glacial rate of vaccination. Individual states have imposed a series of severe lockdowns but, despite a number of anti-lockdown protests, most people view the authorities as having handled the pandemic very well. Australians seem as, if not more, willing to conform to government demands as people in most “Confucian” countries.

Perhaps the most depressing consequence of the east/west myth is the belief that one can have only one or the other. Far from there being a simple east/west divide, the global picture is messy in terms of attitudes, policy and outcomes. East Asian countries have disappointingly low vaccination rates, but the numbers of Covid deaths also remain low. Britain has a very high proportion of vaccinated people, but the numbers of deaths are very high and few would suggest, with the exception of the vaccine rollout, that policy has been coherent or well-judged.

(Kenan Malik – The Guardian)

‘The fight against the novel coronavirus pandemic has highlighted the importance of ‘Asian values’.” “Asian culture’s emphasis on obedience to authority could play a role in explaining how successful public health measures have been in the region.” “The massive disparity in eastern and western responses to the pandemic lies in their cultural values. Western ‘individualistic’ culture puts the needs and desires of the individual the priority whereas eastern ‘collectivist’ culture pushes societal needs to the forefront.”

Last year, “Asian values” became the one-stop explanation for the success of countries such as China, South Korea, Japan, Taiwan, Singapore and Vietnam in controlling the virus. The west, many insisted, had paid for its individualist ethos by having populations refuse to obey the authorities, fail to wear masks or observe lockdowns.

Except that it has not quite turned out like that. The Olympics in Tokyo have been superb, full of spectacle and drama. But there have been no spectators in the stadiums to watch that drama. Tokyo is in its fourth lockdown and Covid cases are still rising sharply. Most Japanese did not want the Games and in no country has there been more scorn for the way the authorities have handled the pandemic. Less than a third of the population has been vaccinated and only a minority trust Covid vaccines. The only other nation so sceptical of vaccines is another east Asian country, South Korea. Those two countries also have the lowest levels of trust in health authorities’ ability to deliver an effective vaccination programme. There are reasons for such scepticism, such as Japan’s history of botched vaccination programmes. Yet all this puts a dent in the claim that Asian countries are particularly trusting of authority and exhibit a herd-like obedience.

Meanwhile, in Britain, 96% trust Covid vaccines. The supposedly highly individualist population has throughout the pandemic desired more restrictions than the government imposed. The latest polls suggest almost half of Britons think restrictions have been lifted too soon (as compared with one in eight who think they should have been eased sooner); the vast majority want masks to be mandatory in shops and on public transport and social distancing rules maintained; half want nightclubs closed; and almost one in five want to maintain the toughest forms of restrictions – banning people from leaving their homes except for essential shopping, exercise and work.

Such attitudes are not peculiar to Britain. At the beginning of the pandemic, most European nations were highly supportive of lockdowns and other restrictions on personal freedoms, much to the surprise of the authorities. Trust in vaccines has increased in most European nations, including in France where, for historical reasons, there has been greater hesitancy. Australia has seen low numbers of Covid cases and deaths, but also a glacial rate of vaccination. Individual states have imposed a series of severe lockdowns but, despite a number of anti-lockdown protests, most people view the authorities as having handled the pandemic very well. Australians seem as, if not more, willing to conform to government demands as people in most “Confucian” countries.

Perhaps the most depressing consequence of the east/west myth is the belief that one can have only one or the other. Far from there being a simple east/west divide, the global picture is messy in terms of attitudes, policy and outcomes. East Asian countries have disappointingly low vaccination rates, but the numbers of Covid deaths also remain low. Britain has a very high proportion of vaccinated people, but the numbers of deaths are very high and few would suggest, with the exception of the vaccine rollout, that policy has been coherent or well-judged.

(Kenan Malik – The Guardian)

‘The fight against the novel coronavirus pandemic has highlighted the importance of ‘Asian values’.” “Asian culture’s emphasis on obedience to authority could play a role in explaining how successful public health measures have been in the region.” “The massive disparity in eastern and western responses to the pandemic lies in their cultural values. Western ‘individualistic’ culture puts the needs and desires of the individual the priority whereas eastern ‘collectivist’ culture pushes societal needs to the forefront.”

Last year, “Asian values” became the one-stop explanation for the success of countries such as China, South Korea, Japan, Taiwan, Singapore and Vietnam in controlling the virus. The west, many insisted, had paid for its individualist ethos by having populations refuse to obey the authorities, fail to wear masks or observe lockdowns.

Except that it has not quite turned out like that. The Olympics in Tokyo have been superb, full of spectacle and drama. But there have been no spectators in the stadiums to watch that drama. Tokyo is in its fourth lockdown and Covid cases are still rising sharply. Most Japanese did not want the Games and in no country has there been more scorn for the way the authorities have handled the pandemic. Less than a third of the population has been vaccinated and only a minority trust Covid vaccines. The only other nation so sceptical of vaccines is another east Asian country, South Korea. Those two countries also have the lowest levels of trust in health authorities’ ability to deliver an effective vaccination programme. There are reasons for such scepticism, such as Japan’s history of botched vaccination programmes. Yet all this puts a dent in the claim that Asian countries are particularly trusting of authority and exhibit a herd-like obedience.

Meanwhile, in Britain, 96% trust Covid vaccines. The supposedly highly individualist population has throughout the pandemic desired more restrictions than the government imposed. The latest polls suggest almost half of Britons think restrictions have been lifted too soon (as compared with one in eight who think they should have been eased sooner); the vast majority want masks to be mandatory in shops and on public transport and social distancing rules maintained; half want nightclubs closed; and almost one in five want to maintain the toughest forms of restrictions – banning people from leaving their homes except for essential shopping, exercise and work.

Such attitudes are not peculiar to Britain. At the beginning of the pandemic, most European nations were highly supportive of lockdowns and other restrictions on personal freedoms, much to the surprise of the authorities. Trust in vaccines has increased in most European nations, including in France where, for historical reasons, there has been greater hesitancy. Australia has seen low numbers of Covid cases and deaths, but also a glacial rate of vaccination. Individual states have imposed a series of severe lockdowns but, despite a number of anti-lockdown protests, most people view the authorities as having handled the pandemic very well. Australians seem as, if not more, willing to conform to government demands as people in most “Confucian” countries.

Perhaps the most depressing consequence of the east/west myth is the belief that one can have only one or the other. Far from there being a simple east/west divide, the global picture is messy in terms of attitudes, policy and outcomes. East Asian countries have disappointingly low vaccination rates, but the numbers of Covid deaths also remain low. Britain has a very high proportion of vaccinated people, but the numbers of deaths are very high and few would suggest, with the exception of the vaccine rollout, that policy has been coherent or well-judged.

(Kenan Malik – The Guardian)